


War Machines

by SongOfErin



Category: MASH (TV), Steam Powered Giraffe
Genre: Family Feels, Fear, Gen, Good People Having Things They Don't Deserve Happen To Them, Hurt/Comfort, Korean War, Madness, Nightmares, Period Typical Bigotry, Trauma, decomposition, medical gore
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-05
Updated: 2021-03-01
Packaged: 2021-03-05 01:54:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 16
Words: 88,308
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25096453
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SongOfErin/pseuds/SongOfErin
Summary: Just another day in the ROK. Just another consignment of casualties to the 4077th MASH.Except the drivers of the ambulance aren't quite what Hawkeye expects. They're not human, for one.But Rabbit and The Jon, separated from their brother, are far more human than they appear. It's up to Hawkeye and the MASH team to reunite the family and prove to the army that the mechanical beings really are people.But not everyone at MASH believes the robots are safe. And when they at last find The Spine, they discover they may have even bigger problems than they thought...
Comments: 117
Kudos: 62





	1. Hawkeye's Letter

**Author's Note:**

> I had the idea to do this cross-over a couple of years ago, before I saw anyone else had done it. So all the ideas are my own. But I would like to thank InterNutter and Whistling Wolf13 for writing 'Pax Industrius' and 'Tender souls' respectively, because they're amazing fics and they really helped me refine my ideas, especially around character development. Their work also means there are some interactions which I haven't made much of because they're done so well in these fics. Please go and read them too!
> 
> I've been doing some research for the war side of this but I'm relying solely on the TV show for medical knowledge, so it may be wrong. Sorry about that.  
> I'll try to update regularly. I've got a few chapters written but it depends how quickly my beta readers get through them. Also I'm doing Camp NaNoWriMo which is taking up a certain amount of time...  
> Finally, I own nothing. Well, actually I own lots of things, but none of it includes Steam Powered Giraffe or MASH. Enjoy!

_Dear Dad,_

_Just when I get my hopes up that we’re going to get a decent rest, another load of kids come in who look like they’ve been playing Hot Potato with hand grenades. We thought we’d be clear for a week at least, but then another batch came in a couple of days ago and we’ve only just finished with the cutting and sewing._

_As you know, we get some real characters through this camp, but the pair I met the other day knock Klinger into one of his own bonnets. I’ll tell you about them later, but first I want to update you on Frank’s affair with Hot Lips Houlihan._

_Frank has no idea, but Hot Lips has been planning something. It’s his own fault, really. The other day he made a fatal error…_

‘Hey, I got some good news today,’ Trapper John McIntyre said, into the usual tense hush of the operating room. ‘Clamp.’ There was rattle of instruments on the tray.

‘Clamp,' said Lieutenant Amir, as she passed it over.

‘Good news?’ Hawkeye Pierce glanced up from his patient for a second, a fragment of relief from the butchery his fingers performed on the bloody ruin that lay stretched out before him. ‘I thought we’d run out. What is it, Trap?’

‘A friend of mine from med school is getting divorced.’

Everyone laughed and Hawkeye felt his shoulder muscles relax, just a little. Enough that he could look back down into the sucking hole in his patient’s lung with his usual cool.

At least until Frank Burns decided to contribute his two cents’ worth.

‘Typical!’ Frank snorted from behind his mask. ‘I expect he was another degenerate like you two.’

‘Frank, knock it off,’ Henry said, clearly bored with repeating the same thing half-a-dozen times a day. ‘Lab sponge.’

‘Lab sponge.’

‘Sorry, but someone has to stand up for the morals of our society!’ Frank’s nostrils quivered in moral indignation. ‘It can only function based on a solid institution like marriage. Huh, catch me ever getting a divorce!’

Margaret Houlihan’s face screwed up behind her own mask and her wail echoed around the operating theatre.

‘Oh, Frank!’

_Since then, our head nurse has been trying to think of a way to persuade Frank to leave his wife. It won’t be easy. His wife holds the purse strings and the one thing Frank loves above all else is money. So far Margaret has tried to flatter Frank by telling him that he’s good enough to make decent money without his wife. Apparently, he’s more of a realist than we thought, because as far as Trap and I can tell, he hasn’t bought it. All it’s done is give him a bigger head than he already has. Pretty soon we’ll be able to use his nose as an umbrella. It’s not quite there yet, though. Trapper and I tried it this morning on the way back from surgery, but we still got soaked._

_You might think we’re cruel to Frank, but you’d change your mind if you met him. He shouted at Ginger again yesterday for giving him the instruments he asked for. If he just admitted he was wrong, he’d still be a pain in the neck, but at least he’d be a more likeable one._

‘Yeah, he accused me of reading people’s mail, too,’ Radar said as he walked past Hawkeye’s chair, clipboard at the ready.

‘But you do!’ Pierce laughed, not for the first time wondering how their company clerk could read minds like that.

‘But how does he know about it?’ Radar asked. ‘Tell your dad I said hi.’

_That was Radar O’Reilly. He says hi._

_And now, I’ll keep my promise and tell you about the strange pair I met that make the rest of us look almost normal. And as you know, that’s no mean feat. They arrived along with the last bunch of casualties. Not as patients, you understand. They were driving the ambulance._

‘Hey, Trapper, is there a little more nectar?’ Hawkeye looked across at the bulbous, twisted shape of the still that lurked beside his friend’s bunk.

‘Don’t you think you’ve had enough?’ Frank snapped at Pierce, glaring across the cluttered tent at him, as Trapper poured neat spirit into their glasses. ‘You’ve done nothing all afternoon but lie there drinking gin, while I’ve been carrying out my duties as OD!’

‘Frank, what you see as doing nothing is actually an ancient meditation technique passed down to army surgeons for the last three hundred years. Could I have some quiet please? You’re disturbing my concentration.’ Hawkeye reclined on the thin, lumpy pillow, the rickety cot shaking as he crossed his long legs.

‘Oh. What are you meditating on?’ Frank asked, despite himself.

‘Right now, a nurse. Lieutenant Amir.’ He closed his eyes, trying to block out the depressing, grey canvas and replace it with a more uplifting image.

Frank made a disgusted noise and flung himself down on his own cot, which rattled.

‘Why I put up with you two perverts, I don’t know!’ he complained petulantly.

‘Blimey, Frank,’ Trapper said, now also engaged in carnal contemplation, martini glass in hand. ‘If this is you being tolerant, what’re you like when you’re intolerant?’

‘Maybe he goes all the way out the other side and becomes caring.’

Pierce and Trapper looked at each other and then burst out laughing.

‘Oh, you guys!’ Frank turned himself over with a ‘humph’, so he didn’t have to look at his roommates, and pulled down his Bible from his irritatingly tidy shelf.

From outside, there came the sound of scurrying feet and through the mesh walls, Hawkeye dimly made out the shape of Radar in the gathering dusk. He didn’t need the corporal’s cry of ‘Choppers!’ to know what was going on.

‘Come on,’ Trapper said, lurching to his feet like a resurrecting corpse and knocking on the sole of Hawkeye’s boot.

Hawkeye groaned.

‘Come on,’ Trap repeated. ‘How about instead of meditating on Lieutenant Amir, we go and see the real thing?’

Hawkeye sighed heavily and got to his feet. As their weary trudge became an adrenaline-fuelled run, across the compound and up the curving slope to the landing site, he wondered if a day would ever come when he simply couldn’t face the OR anymore. Sometimes it felt as if that day was getting awfully near.

Only one chopper came roaring down from the sky like an exceptionally large mosquito to kick up the dust of the launchpad. As the orderlies transferred the soldiers to the jeeps to take them down to the hospital and he and Trapper began their examinations, Hawk tried to count that as a blessing and found he couldn’t. A blessing would be if no more choppers ever arrived, if both sides turned in their guns for cocktail shakers and held a massive party. Although that might still result in casualties.

Henry and Frank were already scrubbing up and now Trapper hurried in with the chopper cases, leaving Hawkeye outside to assess the patients on the ambulance that roared into the compound not long after the helicopter had landed.

With Radar following him like a diminutive shadow, he had the back doors open almost before the driver had parked and scrambled up inside. The first man was ominously still. Hawkeye checked his pulse, confirmed his suspicions and moved on to the next one. He wasn’t too bad, comparatively, although he’d be no beauty contestant by the time they finished sewing up the shrapnel wounds on his face. The third was in shock.

‘This one needs blood!’ he called and the orderlies moved in to whisk the injured soldier away as he moved down the bus. A small part of him, kept under rigid control through long practice, was screaming and sobbing at the destruction wrought upon fragile human frames. But he ignored it. He had to. To give in to it would mean letting these men go untreated. It would mean letting them die.

A fourth unconscious form passed under his hands, then a fifth, a sixth. At last, he finished. Now he had hours of surgery to look forward to and then, with any luck, a brief respite before the whole cycle started again. But as he was climbing down from the bus, he bumped into someone. They were nearly as tall as him and his shoulder collided painfully with Hawkeye’s own.

‘Sorry,’ the good doctor said, making to step around him.

‘A-a-a-a-are you all r-r-right?’

Hawkeye glanced up. What he saw made him gasp and swallow at the same time and he choked. A shining hand reached towards him as he coughed and he stepped back instinctively, wiping streaming eyes. This man, with brilliantly glowing, mis-matched eyes, small amounts of steam issuing from large vents in the cheeks of his copper-coloured face and a black bandana tied beneath his army cap, wasn’t human.

‘A-a-a-a-are you all r-r-right?’ Rabbit asked.

The black-haired man choked at the sight of him, but he was used to this reaction. He was used to people flinching away from him when he offered help, too. He just hoped this one wasn’t going to scream, yell or start quoting the Bible at him.

‘What... You... Huh?’ the doctor eventually produced.

Rabbit started his mantra. ‘Y-y-y-yep! I’m a robot! I’m R-Rabbit! I was built back in 1896. You know, when it was still illegal for...’ He tailed off. The man wasn’t listening. He was just gawping at the automaton, mingled fear and alarm showing in his eyes. Rabbit glanced away, suppressing the shudder that such scrutiny always brought.

From the hospital came a cry of ‘Hawkeye!’

The man opened his mouth again and Rabbit’s gears vibrated as he tensed.

‘Hawkeye!’

The doctor’s head snapped around. ‘I... gotta go!’ he said and dashed away.

‘…Rabbit?’ came a timid voice as a slim, anxious figure slid around the side of the ambulance, curly hair spilling out from under his green cap to frame his golden face.

‘C-come on, Jon. We gotta get these last couple of g-guys inside.’

‘Oh! Yeah!’

Working together, as always, they lifted a stretcher out of the ambulance and headed for the corrugated-metal hulk of the hospital, constantly adjusting their springs to make sure they didn’t jolt the patient over the rough ground. The orderlies came rushing back. They stopped dead and stared open-mouthed at Rabbit and The Jon, who ignored them. The humans parted to allow the stretcher through and they clanked through the swing doors and deposited their patient in pre-op. This particular MASH unit might have been unfamiliar, but they were all much the same and the automatons had little difficulty in finding the right place.

On their return, they found the orderlies stripping the ambulance of the last patients, alive and dead, and they were finally free to stop.

‘We delivered them to the right place, right?’

‘Y-yep!’

‘So… so can we go home now?’

Rabbit wrapped his arm around his brother’s shoulder. If only he could give his brother the answer they both wanted to hear.

‘N-n-n-not yet, Jon boy,’ he said. ‘G-g-gotta w-wait for the army to let us leave, just like last time. Remember?’ As if either of them could forget.

‘Then… can we take a break?’

‘S-s-sure.’

A short figure in glasses bumbled out of the hospital and Rabbit went to tap him on the shoulder.

‘Mess tent’s over that way, sirs,’ he said, pointing, before the robot could speak. Looking up from his clipboard, he caught sight of Rabbit’s face and jumped, his mouth dropping open. ‘Are you, are you... are you robots, sirs?’ he asked, squinting at Rabbit’s copper curlicues. ‘No, that’s silly… Robots don’t exist…’

‘Yes they d-do!’ Rabbit said, indignantly. He was right in front of the boy!

‘Really?’ The young corporal’s eyes were as round as the lenses of his glasses. ‘Like in a comic book? Wow!’

‘Yeah…’ The Jon said softly. ‘Kinda…’

Rabbit’s indignation was supplanted by a tendril of cautious pride. It wasn’t often, these days, someone was _impressed_ by them.

‘That’s amazing...’ the young man breathed. ‘Oh, sorry, I gotta go! I gotta help out in X-ray.’ He trundled off, leaving the bots to make their way over to the mess tent, across the ruts and pits that had been baked into the earth of the compound.

For a few moments after they stepped inside, no one noticed them. Not that there were many people inside _to_ notice them. There were only two men at one end of the tent, clearing away some dubious-looking food. But as the robots drew near, they looked up. One of them dropped the tray he was carrying, sending congealed mashed potato all over the floor and, once again, Rabbit and The Jon found themselves the subjects of startled, suspicious stares.

‘C-c-could we have some water, please?’ Rabbit asked politely, glitching as usual and trying to ignore the suspicion in their gazes. _Just be polite_ , he told himself. _It’ll all be okay._ He had to keep believing that.

The men glanced at each other. ‘Er… sure,’ one of them said, gesturing vaguely to half-empty water jug. There were cups by the big silver coffee machines and The Jon fetched two while Rabbit snagged the jug. They settle themselves at a table in the corner, steam mingling with their sighs as they finally got to rest.

_I’m guessing you won’t believe me, Dad. You’re probably wondering if the war has finally killed off what little sanity I ever had. But I promise every word of it’s true. If I can, I’ll see if I can get a picture of them to send to you, so you know I’m not completely crazy. On second thoughts, maybe you could call the army and tell them you’re worried I’m going insane. That way I might get out on a psycho. Klinger’s probably trying it as I write._

‘Did anyone else see who was driving that ambulance?’ Hawkeye inquired as he shouldered his way into the operating room, nearly colliding with a gurney because he was too preoccupied with what he had just seen.

‘Why?’ Henry asked, frowning as he resected a bowel. ‘Was it General MacArthur?’

‘Not unless he’s taken up wearing suits of armour.’

‘Whadda you mean?’ Trapper said, glancing up at his friend and then back down into the midriff of the nineteen-year-old he and Henry were sharing.

‘I mean,’ Hawkeye said, as Margaret directed him to a table, ‘the guy driving that ambulance was a robot.’

He stared down at the body before him, his brain snapping back into the routine of surgery. Multiple lacerations, a bullet wound and shell fragments. Almost enough to rebuild the damned shell and that was only what he could see straight off. God knew how many more were deeper in.

‘Oh, of course’ Frank said snidely, glaring at Pierce. ‘Of course it was a robot. It wasn’t anything to do with how much gin you’ve been drinking today.’

‘Please tell me you’re not serious,’ McIntyre pleaded, as he plunged a pair of forceps deeper into his patient. ‘Otherwise you’re gonna make me agree with Frank and if that happens, I’m not sure I can live with myself.’

‘I’m telling you! He was a robot. His eyes were glowing blue and green and he had steam coming out his cheeks… You’re right, it sounds ridiculous. But I could have sworn it was real…’ He began opening up the ragged wounds, clamping the bleeding veins and searching for the fragments that had burrowed their way inside like metallic parasites.

‘It was real, sir,’ Radar said as he entered carrying the X-rays of Frank’s patient. ‘There was a robot driving the ambulance. In fact, there were two of them!’

‘See?’ Pierce cried, as Ginger handed him a lab sponge. ‘I’m right! Either that or Radar and I are having the same hallucinations.’

There was a chorus of, ‘You and Radar are having the same hallucinations.’

‘I wasn’t hacullinating!’ Radar said indignantly, holding the X-rays up to the light so that Frank could see them. ‘They asked me where the mess tent was!’

‘Can we please have some sort of military discipline in here?’ Frank blustered angrily. ‘You should be working instead of swapping tall tales. This is a hospital, not a bar!’

There was a short hiatus, not in obedience to Frank’s demands, but because the other doctors had some tricky work on their hands and they wanted to concentrate.

‘Okay, this guy’s done,’ Henry said at last, finishing the last stitch. ‘Get me the next one.’

Klinger, his knee-length skirt revealing his very hairy legs, helped to ferry the next casualty in and as they set him down on the table, Hawkeye asked,

‘Hey Klinger, did you see the ambulance drivers?’

‘Yeah! I wish I was that good with make-up. If they get out of the army for that, I might try the robot look myself.’

‘Er, sirs?’

Rabbit drained another cup of water and looked up. The boy with glasses was hovering anxiously behind them.

‘Y-y-y-y-yeah?’

‘Which one of you is Captain… Rabbit?’ His eyes darted between them, awed and apprehensive.

‘Th-th-that’s me, but it’s just Rabbit.’ No one ever took orders from him, after all, even though he was the oldest.

‘Er, well, we just got new orders through for you. Or not exactly orders, sirs, because they say they haven’t decided what to do with you yet and you’re to stay here, sirs, until they have. Decided, I mean.’ The corporal fidgeted with his clipboard as he spoke.

If Rabbit had had the long ears he’d secretly craved for most of his life, they would have drooped. ‘Th-th-thanks,’ he said, despondently and vented steam from his cheeks.

The Jon made a little whining noise.

‘Is there something wrong, sirs?’ Radar blinked as the steam passed over his face and misted up his glasses.

‘No… it’s okay,’ The Jon said.

‘Are you sure? I can try to help?’ And he meant that, Rabbit realised. There was genuine concern in his voice. It took some people months, even years, to accept them for what they were. Many never did. And yet here was one young army corporal who seemed to think they were people already. And he’d only met them once. _Humans are amazing…_ It was a thought he’d had a lot over the last fifty years.

‘W-what’s your name?’ he asked.

‘Corporal Walter O’Reilly, but everyone calls me Radar.’

That was a good name. _It’s like a robot’s name_ , Rabbit thought and grinned to himself.

‘Th-this is my b-b-brother, The Jon.’

The Jon touched his hat.

‘You guys are brothers?’

‘We were b-built by the same person, C-Colonel Peter A. Walter I, in 1896.’ _Pappy…_ The name brought its usual, familiar ache.

‘Wow. You’re really old!’ Radar said. Then fear and guilt flooded his face. ‘Oh, I’m sorry!’

Rabbit gave a dry chuckle. ‘Yeah, g-g-g-guess we are. This is the fourth w-w-war we’ve b-been in.’

‘Your fourth? Gee, and I thought we had it rough just being in one…’ Radar shivered.

‘Can you really help us?’ The Jon asked, a tiny sliver of hope in his voice.

Radar slipped into a seat next to Rabbit.

‘Well, it depends what you need help with.’

‘S-s-spose going home’s out of the question?’ Rabbit said, only half-joking.

‘Wish I could,’ Radar said, apologetically. ‘But if I could get someone a discharge, I wouldn’t be here.’

‘We won’t ever get a discharge,’ The Jon said, mournfully. Rabbit leaned over and covered the golden hand with his copper one.

‘You will someday,’ Radar said, trying to sound like he believed it.

‘No,’ Rabbit sighed, issuing a plume of frustrated steam. Maybe he shouldn’t say this to a stranger, but he didn’t care anymore. ‘We’re not p-people, not to the army. We’re equipment. They don’t send the t-tanks home, do they? We’re just possessions, w-war m-machines. They won’t let us go home until the war’s finished, or we’re d-d-d-dead.’

‘What, not even if you were injured?’ Radar asked.

‘No, they’d just repair us and we’d have to carry on.’

Horror scrawled its way across Radar’s face. _Of course_ , thought Rabbit. _He works in a hospital. He knows_ exactly _how much damage a body can endure._

‘Rabbit,’ The Jon said, tugging at the cuff of Rabbit’s green shirt. ‘Could he find out about The Spine?’

‘About the what?’

‘…The S-Spine is our other b-b-brother,’ Rabbit explained. ‘W-w-w-w-when they c-c-came for us… they s-s-s-s-’ He had even more difficulty than usual saying the word, tiny tremors running up and down his form. ‘S-s-separated us. They s-sent him somewhere else. And we d-d-don’t know w-where.’ Images raced through his mind. The family in black and the General laying down the law to them, his face as sharp and jagged as the creases in his uniform. Scaring The Jon with the look in his eye. Scaring Rabbit, because The Spine was worried. So, so worried.

‘Could you… maybe find out for us?’ The Jon’s blue eyes glowed sorrowfully out from underneath his copious golden curls, like a mechanical Cupid.

‘Sure I can!’ Radar said, standing up. ‘You can count on me, sirs!’

Rabbit smiled weakly. _I hope he really can. I can’t see The Jon disappointed. Not again. Have to protect him from that._

‘Doc?’ came a weak voice from the end bed. Pierce gathered his lab coat round him and sank onto the side of the boy’s cot. It was the one who’d been in shock coming off the ambulance. He wasn’t even twenty yet.

‘Hey, take it easy,’ he said soothingly. ‘This is your chance to get a lie-in for once.’

A feeble smile wavered in the kid’s face, but it was replaced almost immediately by worry.

‘Doc?’ he said again. ‘The guys who brought me in… the robots…’ Dizzy with morphine, he had trouble constructing his sentences.

_Ah, so I_ was _right!_ ‘What about them?’

‘Are… they okay?’

‘Why shouldn’t they be?’ Hawkeye asked, intrigued and concerned in equal measure.

‘Can… I see ‘em, Doc?’

‘You need to rest. Maybe tomorrow.’

But as he got up, the boy made a weak grab at him.

‘Please! I need to see them.’

‘Will you get some sleep if I get them?’

‘Promise, Doc.’

‘All right, then. Just a few minutes.’ Hawkeye went to Henry’s office. The desk outside was usually the best place to start looking for Radar and Radar was certain to know the whereabouts of their two mechanical guests.

Sure enough, Radar was banging away at the typewriter when Hawkeye entered.

‘Radar, do you know-’

‘Trapper invited them to have a drink, sir.’

‘Thanks.’ Hawkeye clapped him on the shoulder and hurried out of the hospital and across the dustbowl to the Swamp. Trapper emerged just as he approached, a frown creasing his face beneath his dirty blond curls.

‘Hey, you were right, Hawk. These guys really are robots. Steam, gears, glowing eyes, the works. I dunno what to make of them. I mean, they walk, they talk, but are they alive?’

‘I dunno either. I know the one I talked to was politer than Frank, so I guess they’re more human than him.’

Trapper gave his crooked grin. ‘Hey, you might have a point there.’ He opened the door for Hawkeye and went over to the still.

Ducking under the doorframe, Hawk peered around. Four eyes were glowing in the dim light, three blue and one green. The sight made a shiver steal down his back.

‘You wanna drink?’’ Trap asked, holding up a glass. ‘These fellows don’t, apparently.’

‘Don’t drink?’ Hawkeye was momentarily distracted. ‘How do you survive all this without booze?’

‘Boiling alcohol isn’t good for our systems,’ said the shorter one.

‘That’s too bad,’ he commiserated. ‘I’m Pierce, by the way. Everyone calls me Hawkeye. You’re... Rabbit, is it?’

‘That’s right! And this is The Jon, my b-brother.’ Rabbit nodded at the golden robot, tension stiffening his every movement. They were both so upright, so still, as though they were in the presence of a four-star general.

‘Good to meet you,’ Hawkeye said awkwardly. The Jon was watching him out of enormous blue eyes. He wasn’t sure how it could be, but there was anxiety in those brass features. It was like being stared at by a child. A wary, abandoned, mistreated child. ‘Oh yeah,’ he said, suddenly desperate to dispel the awkwardness, ‘one of my patients is asking for you. Kid’s called Mansterfeld. He’s got some staying power. We pumped enough morphine into him to knock out half the camp but he won’t settle until he sees you. Do you know him?’

‘Y-y-y-yeah,’ Rabbit stammered. ‘He’s a d-driver. We’ve s-seen him around a f-f-f-few times.’

‘We’ll come,’ The Jon said. ‘ _He_ was nice to us.’

Hawkeye wondered about the slight stress the brass robot laid on that word. What had the army done to these two that kindness had become a luxury to them?

_Whenever I think the army can’t get any screwier, I meet people like Rabbit and The Jon. You’d think it was the humans who had the rough jobs in a war, but I tell you Dad, I’m beginning to think the machines have it worse. At least we humans have each other. Having said that, that’s not always an advantage. Sometimes I think I’d rather run the whole place on my own if it meant I didn’t have Frank on my back. I wouldn’t have to correct his mistakes then, either._

‘Hey, R-R-Roy?’

The kid’s eyelids fluttered opened and he gazed blearily up at Rabbit. Hawkeye saw his stare suddenly focus and two weak hands caught at Rabbit’s shirt. Mansterfeld turned his head and looked past Rabbit until he saw The Jon. Then he relaxed.

‘You’re safe,’ he murmured. ‘You’re safe.’

The two automatons nodded.

‘What about… your brother?’ he asked feebly. ‘Any word?’

‘N-n-n-no,’ Rabbit admitted. ‘But the clerk here said he’ll ask around f-f-for us. We’ll f-f-find him!’

His tone was bright and optimistic, but Hawkeye didn’t believe it, any more than he believed in the tooth fairy. He made no mention of it, though, because a patient’s morale was at stake.

‘Good,’ Mansterfeld murmured, struggling against the morphine which was relentlessly pulling him back under. ‘That’s… good.’

‘Come on,’ Hawkeye said, beckoning the pair towards the door. ‘We’d better let him get some sleep.’

‘He will be okay, won’t he?’ The Jon asked, peering anxiously up at him.

‘If there aren’t any post-operative infections, in a couple of weeks he should be up and about and on his way home. Lucky devil.’

The brass robot’s expression cleared and he gave a tiny smile.

‘Thank you, doctor,’ he said.

At that precise moment, Frank strode into the ward. He stopped and gaped at Rabbit and The Jon.

‘What’re these two doing here?’ he demanded of Pierce.

‘Visiting a patient,’ Hawkeye said, inwardly sighing. Frank was going to be difficult, he just knew it.

‘You let them in here dressed like that?’ Frank pointed at the two robots, who had frozen, their eyes as wide as petri dishes.

‘Dressed like what?’

‘They’re pretending to be robots, Pierce! They’re out of uniform!’

‘B-b-b-but we’re w-w-wearing uniform,’ Rabbit pointed out. He was fractionally taller than Frank, but he seemed to be trying to make himself smaller, less easily noticed. Anger bubbled up inside Hawkeye like a pot just coming to the boil.

‘Whether you’re wearing uniform or not is not the point!’ Frank snapped, confusing everyone. ‘I’m going to call the MPs! They’ll sort you out!’

‘Frank,’ Hawkeye interjected. ‘They’re not pretending anything. They _are_ robots. I know you’re a poor doctor, but do you really think humans can make steam inside their bodies?’

As if to prove the point, a quantity of very hot water vapour blew out of Rabbit’s cheek vents. Was that a symptom of stress in robots? Perhaps equivalent to faster breathing…

‘You-you mean they’re _actually_ robots?’ Frank hissed, casting frightened looks at Rabbit. ‘But this is the army!’

‘Your powers of observation are terrifying, Frank,’ Hawkeye said, with absolute truth. ‘The army expects us to run like machines, so why not employ actual ones?’ The man was denser than a barrel of lead. _Why_ couldn’t he see beyond the borders of his own, painfully narrow mind?

‘You said they were visiting a patient!’ Frank said, completely ignoring Hawkeye’s words, as usual.

‘They were. So?’

‘Why would a machine want to do that? They can’t have feelings!’

Out of the corner of his eye, Hawkeye saw The Jon flinch. It was only a tiny movement, but he knew what he had seen. The bubbling anger spilled over, running through his veins in fiery threads.

‘They’re probably Chinese!’ Frank spat, unable to disguise the fear in his voice as he worked himself up, no doubt foreseeing a challenge to his comfortable, middle-class view of the world in the presence of something new. ‘Those godless Communists have dressed up a couple of tin cans in _our_ uniform and sent them here to spy on us!’

Rabbit shrank another half-inch and Hawkeye’s fraying temper snapped.

‘They’re not Communist spies!’ he shouted. ‘And even if they were, what would they be doing in a hospital? They’re people. They’re just different people!’

‘People? Do I have to remind you, _doctor_ , that people are alive? Those two… _things_ are just machines! They can’t possibly have feelings!’

‘Takes one to know one, Frank!’

‘What the devil is going on in here?!’ Henry had finally arrived, his red face glowing between his too-short dressing gown and his fishing hat.

‘Colonel, two Communist spies are running around our camp!’ Frank said, determined as ever to get his say in first.

‘Two _what_?’

‘Ferret-face here thinks these two robots are Chinese.’

‘Oh come on, Pierce, stop horsing around. Enough with the robot thing’

‘Henry, I’m serious, just look at ‘em!’

Their commanding officer peered past Hawkeye to the two mechanical figures. Copious amounts of steam were billowing out of Rabbit’s cheek vents and The Jon was picking at the stitches on his cap.

‘Holy cow...’ Henry blinked several times. ‘Hey, are you two the ones we got orders through for a few hours ago? Jon and... something? When they said robots, I thought that was a misprint…’

‘Henry, this is Rabbit and Jon,’ Hawkeye supplied, introducing them as though they were at a tea party. ‘Rabbit and Jon, this is Henry. Doctor, colonel and model of inefficiency.’

‘ _The_ Jon,’ The Jon corrected.

‘The one and only,’ Rabbit said quietly, patting The Jon on the arm.

‘Pierce...’ Henry had clearly lost the thread of the conversation.

Frank soon found it for him. ‘We need to get the MPs, Colonel,’ he whined.

‘Don’t be ridiculous, they’re on our side,’ Henry sighed, giving Frank the look that everyone in camp saved just for him. ‘I just said, we got orders through for them. Now will you two pack it in? You’re in post-op, remember?’ Henry stalked back to his office, grumbling under his breath.

‘What’re you in here for, anyway, Frank?’ Hawkeye asked. He realised that Rabbit and The Jon had vanished and he couldn’t blame them. ‘If you’re after extra tuition in medicine, I’m afraid I’m busy.’

‘I’m here to relieve you, Captain.’

‘In public, sir? I barely know you!’

Before Frank could do more than splutter, Hawkeye took his leave, still wondering about the robots. Why had he reacted that way? Why had he automatically assumed they were people? Or, and this was a very painful thought, was Frank right? _No,_ he told himself. _You saw how they reacted to that kid. They were worried about him. And this brother of theirs, whoever he is. Another robot, maybe? Wonder if Radar’s turned anything up..._

He yawned and rubbed a hand across his face. Maybe he would ask Radar about it tomorrow. For now, all he wanted was sleep. Well, that and a drink. And maybe a nurse. He could get back to sorting out other people’s problems in the morning.

_So, there it is, Dad. Rabbit and The Jon seem a nice couple of guys. It’s a shame Frank can’t see that. I wish I could say that I doubt we’ll get any more trouble from him, but if I claimed that my boxer shorts would probably spontaneously combust. I know you’ll be as interested in them as I am, so I’ll keep you posted._

_Your loving son,_

_Hawkeye_


	2. The Brother

‘Hey Radar,’ Pierce said, waving his fork at the corporal.

‘Hegh,’ Radar said indistinctly through a mouthful of antique chicken. He set down his loaded tray opposite Pierce and carried on shovelling its contents into his mouth.

‘Good to see you’re keeping your strength up,’ Trapper teased.

Radar glowered at him and both doctors laughed.

‘Come on, we’re just kidding,’ Hawkeye said, waving his hand as if to bat the offending words away.

‘Have you found anything for our mechanical friends over there?’ Trapper asked, jerking his thumb over at the two robots who had squashed themselves into a corner where they were less noticeable. ‘Any word of their brother?’

Radar shook his head.

‘Not ‘et, sirs,’ he said thickly.

‘Who are we even looking for?’ Hawkeye asked, leaning forward, a frown creasing his forehead. ‘You know, what’s he like? What’re we asking people to look out for?’

‘Well,’ Radar said, swallowing such a big mouthful it looked painful. ‘Rabbit said The Spine’s really tall, about your height, I think.’ He gestured at Trapper with his fork. Trapper eyed it warily.

‘Can you point that thing somewhere else?’ he said tetchily. ‘I’m worried it’ll go off.’

Radar frowned again and then carried on,

‘He’s made of steel and he’s got these smokestacks all up his back. That’s how he got his name.’

‘So we’re looking for tall guy who smokes, huh?’ Hawkeye said. ‘How come no one’s heard anything? How many robots can there be in this little party of ours?’ Bitterness twisted through his voice.

Radar glanced over his shoulder at the robots in the corner and then lowered his voice so that they couldn’t hear.

‘Some people don’t like ‘em. They don’t wanna help. And some don’t believe we’ve got robots in the army. They think I’m messing them around. One guy told me he’d have me court-marshalled if I mentioned robots to him ever again!’ His eyes widened and the fork trembled with fear.

‘There’s gotta be some way we can find out!’ Hawk said vehemently.

‘There’s some units I ain’t got through to yet,’ Radar admitted, attacking his loaded tray again. ‘But they’re the ones right on the front lines.’ He sighed. ‘I keep losing ‘em.’

‘He could be dead by now.’ Trapper quietly voiced the thought they had all had at some point over the last few days, looking seriously at Hawk. ‘Or deactivated or whatever. Maybe that’s why we haven’t heard anything.’

‘No,’ Pierce said with much more optimism than he actually felt. ‘They have to notify the family if that happens. They’d have heard.’

‘Well, it depends,’ Radar said quietly, looking firmly at his food to avoid Hawkeye’s gaze. ‘If they’re classified as equipment, like Rabbit said, the army might feel they’re not obliged to say anything. Equipment can’t have family, right?’

‘This stinks!’ Hawkeye thumped the table with his fist, the familiar anger slotting into place like an old friend. ‘I know looking for one guy in the whole of Korea is like looking for a needle in a haystack, but this needle’s over six feet tall and powered by steam! It shouldn’t be this hard!’

‘Calm down, Hawk,’ Trapper said, dully. ‘There’s nothing you can do.’

‘I know! I just hate seeing people treated this way!’ His restless hands emphasised his point, an outlet for the energy filling him, the desperate need to do _something_ , _anything_ to help.

‘Doctor?’

Both Pierce and McIntyre started and looked up.

It was The Jon. He was twisting his army cap in deceptively delicate-looking fingers and Hawkeye recognised the motion from the row in post-op. Several stitches had already given way.

‘Thank you,’ The Jon said simply. ‘And thank you too, Radar.’

‘Aw, gee, that’s all right,’ Radar said, going red. ‘We haven’t found anything yet.’

‘You will,’ The Jon said, nodding confidently. ‘I know it.’

‘Look, kid,’ Hawkeye began. ‘We don’t wanna get your hopes up-’

‘No,’ the brass robot interrupted. ‘I _know_ you’ll find him. Somehow. And I’m not a kid!’ This was said with such indignation that Hawkeye felt his mouth twitch at the corners. ‘I was built in 1896! I’m at least ten years older than you!’

Hawkeye burst out laughing, now feeling both chagrined and slightly offended, as well as amused.

‘I’m not in my forties!’ he cried, shaking his head.

The Jon grinned and ducked out of the mess tent, closely followed by Rabbit who was cackling loudly. A hush descended on the tent, as the diners stared at the robots, then broke as the conversation buzzed back into life, twice as loud.

The whirring of helicopter blades resounded yet again through the camp. The hospital’s denizens whirled into activity, a hoard of olive-coloured ants. Klinger and another orderly followed Rabbit and The Jon as they hoisted a stretcher and trotted it swiftly to the jeep. Rabbit jumped into the driver’s seat and had them down from the landing pad in a trice. As they whisked the patients into pre-op, Klinger stared down at them, horror on his angular features.

‘Hey, these are Koreans. And if they’re soldiers, I’ll eat my beret.’

But he knew he was in no danger of having to fulfil that promise, not unless the Korean draft board was now signing up the under-tens and the over seventy-fives. _I’m sick of bringing kids and grandmas in here. What did they ever do to hurt anybody?_

But there was no time to get emotional; there were other casualties to fetch.

And when everyone was crammed inside the hospital, filling up the corridors, it became a race to find enough IV stands and blood. It was going to be a long night, he knew, and it was only two o’clock in the afternoon.

Margaret shook her head.

‘But we can help!’ the robot in front of her insisted, gazing at her with large, blue optics. ‘We’ve been given medical training.’

‘And how are you going to scrub up?’ she asked through her mask. ‘You won’t be able to clean all your joints and that could put our patients at risk.’

‘D-d-d-do you have any disinfectant?’ the taller one inquired, peering over her shoulder into the OR. ‘We’re waterproof, so we can clean our hands in it.’

‘Please,’ The Jon said. ‘We really want to help.’

Margaret felt herself wavering. Partly her reluctance was due to Frank’s insistence that the machines in front of her were just that and nothing more. But looking into The Jon’s enormous, cornflower eyes, she wondered if he was right. Surely, if they were just machines, they wouldn’t be quite so insistent that they help? But they didn’t have time to debate the mysteries of life.

‘All right,’ she said. ‘But make sure you disinfect between each patient you touch.’

So they had two extra pairs of hands helping them in triage and despite herself, Margaret was impressed by their medical knowledge. And they were gentle, these robots, far gentler than she’d expected. There was The Jon, delicately cupping a soldier’s head in one hand while he examined it, and there, Rabbit, inserting an IV with more skill than many of her nursing staff, so cleanly that the patient barely felt it. Everything would have gone swimmingly if it hadn’t been for the young Korean girl.

The Jon was leaning over her, gently cleaning a ragged gash that had torn across her forehead, dried blood covering her face and gumming her eyelids together. As he picked up another swab, she began to stir. One deep brown eye strained to open. The Jon moved closer, intending to reassure her, but before he could do more than open his mouth, she let out a piercing scream, her tiny, grubby hands shielding her face.

Everyone stared as The Jon backed away, confusion and hurt written across his face plates as if with indelible ink.

‘What happened?’ Major Houlihan asked, striding over. The girl continued to shriek something, but no one understood enough Korean to know what had frightened her.

Except, it seemed, someone did.

‘J-J-J-Jon!’ Rabbit caught his brother by the arm as The Jon dashed past him. ‘It’s all r-r-right!’

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ Margaret snapped. ‘You can’t just run out! You’re needed!’

The brass robot raised his head and she saw that his brilliant, sapphire eyes were leaking great droplets of black fluid. She shook her head.

‘We don’t have time for this,’ she said, voicing her earlier thought. ‘I’ll finish her off, you go clean up and disinfect your hands again. Get back here on the double. Whatever happened, we can sort it out later.’

The Jon fled. Almost immediately, the girl’s wails began to subside.

‘It’s all right,’ Margaret said soothingly, hoping her tone would reassure the girl even if she couldn’t understand her. ‘Now we’ll clean you up and then we can see how bad it is, okay? There, there. Er… Gwaenchanh-a.’

Father Mulcahy had had his faith tested almost daily since first arriving at the 4077th MASH and he had thought himself, if it was possible, used to it. Perhaps that wasn’t strictly speaking the attitude God was looking for from him, but it was certainly necessary. Today, he drifted around the operating room as usual, hoping he wouldn’t be needed, and found his daily test much harder than he had bargained for. It was the children that did it. Many of the soldiers, of course, were young enough to make him doubt, but these injuries had been inflicted on people too small to have done anyone much wrong. They certainly hadn’t deserved this. As he watched, Trapper extracted a wickedly sharp piece of brass shrapnel from the back of a boy so little he would barely have come up to the surgeon’s knee caps and Francis wondered, not for the first time, how any of this could be _allowed_.

At last, surgery was over and he looked up into the sky that was as drenched in scarlet as the gown Hawkeye had just tossed in the laundry bin and gave heartfelt thanks that no one had died this time. He was eternally grateful that the unit he was with had such a high efficiency rating. It wasn’t much, but it meant he could sleep just a little easier at night. Or at day, for that matter. Should he swing by the mess tent before he turned in? But the only thing he could face after seeing the wreckage of so many children was coffee and that would only keep him awake. He turned his leaden feet towards his own tent, politely refusing Trapper’s offer of a martini, and then paused. On the other hand, maybe staying awake a bit longer wasn’t such a bad idea. He needed some time to get the images out of his brain before he slept if he wanted to stay asleep.

One slow black coffee later and Father Mulcahy was feeling fractionally more cheerful, because he’d had a couple of ideas on how to raise money for the Korean orphans. That was something good he could do to make this festering cesspool of a war marginally better. And then he found something else, when he at last opened the door to his tent.

‘Oh!’ he exclaimed as he entered. ‘Did… did you want to see me?’ For two huge blue eyes were peering at him from a very anxious, golden face.

‘I’m sorry I broke your chair!’ the robot said, wringing his hands. Beside him, there were indeed the two halves of a folding chair that had obviously been unable to take the force of an energetic robot opening it. ‘It’s normally Rabbit who breaks things!’

‘It’s quite all right, my boy,’ Francis said, automatically in his paternal priest mode. ‘These things happen. I’ve been tempted to break them myself many times.’ This was the first opportunity he’d had to see one of the robots up close. He couldn’t be certain, but he thought they’d been avoiding him. Or maybe it was just that they were avoiding everyone. And now here one of them was, in his very tent.

‘Your boy?’ The Jon asked, putting his head on one side. A tiny frown appeared on his face and Father Mulcahy marvelled that metal plates could so finely express emotion. He had heard several opinions around the camp as to whether these automata could be considered living things but he had decided to make up his own mind. Now, he found no need for lengthy deliberation: he _knew_ they were alive.

‘It’s just an expression,’ he said kindly. ‘Do you want to sit down?’

They both looked down at the sad pile of wood. The Jon folded his legs underneath him and sat on the floor instead and Father Mulcahy followed suit, so that he was on the same level.

‘Are you really a father?’ the robot asked. His gaze was very intense.

‘It’s my title, because I’m a priest. If you want to talk about something, I’m happy to listen. That’s what I’m here for.’

‘Then you really are here just for people to come and talk to?’

‘Well, in a manner of speaking.’

The Jon smiled suddenly and it was like looking at a different person. Instead of the anxious boy, there was now a slightly mischievous young man and Francis found himself wishing with all his heart that the army had never heard of these robots and that the youth in front of him could be back home where he belonged. It was a prayer very similar to one he said daily. Then the smile faded away and the robot was looking forlorn.

‘Father, people are scared of me.’

‘Do you know why that is?’ the priest asked, partly to help the young man, but also because he was finding it difficult to believe anyone could be afraid of The Jon.

‘One of the Korean children saw me and screamed. Her eyes were all gummed up and she couldn’t see properly. She was saying something about a shell.’

‘She mistook you for a shell?’

The robot nodded unhappily. ‘She thought... She thought I was going to-to kill her...’

‘Well, I find it’s usually best to clear up any misunderstandings that happen in life,’ Francis gently suggested. ‘Then she might not be scared of you anymore.’

The Jon thought about this, puffing out little rings of steam as he did so.

‘But if I just appear in front of her, I might scare her again,’ he said eventually.

‘That’s... true. Maybe someone could explain to her first… but I don’t think any of us know enough Korean.’

‘I do.’

‘You do?’

‘We were all taught Korean and Chinese and Japanese before we came. I could tell you what to say and then, could you tell her?’ The Jon opened his sapphire eyes even wider and batted his eyelashes.

 _Machines have eyelashes?_ Francis thought. Out loud, he said, ‘Well, of course, my boy. Do you want to go now?’

‘Oh no, that’s all right,’ The Jon said. ‘Humans need to sleep. How about this afternoon?’

‘That’s very considerate of you,’ Francis said, smiling. ‘This afternoon it is, then.’

_A shell detonated overhead and he threw himself forward to cover his comrade, praying that his weight wouldn’t crush the man’s ribs even as he saved him from the blast. Shrapnel sprayed across his back, rattling against the titanium and smoke billowed across his vision. Next second he was leaning over the edge of the foxhole, spraying the hillside with blue matter rays that burst from the weaponised core in his chest. A howitzer exploded, flames blossoming in the night like terrible carnivorous flowers to engulf the enemy soldiers. He could hear their screams, even over the roar of the artillery, as their flesh charred down to the bone._

_He ducked back below the edge of the shallow pit as another gun opened fire on their position. It was just their luck to stumble across an artillery regiment instead of the guerrillas they were hunting. If their unit could just hold out, maybe the 27th would come to their rescue. Maybe..._

_The man next to him groaned and by the green light of his optics, he saw dark stains spreading across the soldier’s legs._

_‘Medic!’ he called over his shoulder, hoping they would hear him over the guns, and bent down to examine the wounds. Red fluid spilled over his hands from inch-deep lacerations and something pale gleamed wetly beneath the bloodied shrapnel. He staunched the bleeding as best he could, ducking as another shell went whizzing overhead with a noise like the world being torn in half._

_Someone rolled down the side of the foxhole and cannoned into him. It was the medic. He was shouldered roughly aside as the man got to work._

_A radio crackled from his wounded comrade’s belt. He pulled it out, fumbling, his hands still slick with blood, and answered it._

_‘The 27th are on their way,’ came the indistinct voice. ‘We’re pulling back to meet them. Get your metal butt out there and give us cover. Out.’_

_‘Take him and stay in front of me. I’ll shield you.’_

_The medic nodded._

_This time he charged right out of the foxhole. The components of his left arm unfolded smoothly, slotting together to form the Tesla coil projector while his chest array stitched the night with deadly blue. Another gun erupted into flames as thrumming energy built in his arm. He released it and the lightning ripped out from his hand, crackling across a third gun. The men around it jerked, eerie silhouettes glowing with energy like the figures in a shadow play. Did their death-cries really reach his ears through the battle noise, the artillery fire that was like the fury of a god, or was it his imagination?_

_Around him he was aware of his unit retreating, scrambling over the rough ground to get clear but he had the enemy’s attention now and they were turning all their fire on him. A shell exploded in front of him and shrapnel tore into his body. Pain shot through his circuits as the fragments sliced through them. Oil and hydraulic fluid began leaking sluggishly down his fatigues, but he couldn’t retreat. Not until his unit was safe._

_Power coursed down his arm from his core and the coils thrummed. Another bolt of blinding electricity erupted into the night, spearing yet another howitzer. The range of this thing was incredible. Pappy’s original design had been phenomenal but these upgrades—_

_Another shell plunged down in front of him and the force of the explosion blew him backwards. He slithered down into the foxhole in a heap, his circuits sparking in agony and his auditory sensors whining in protest at the overload._

_For a few minutes, he couldn’t move. Gradually his hearing cleared and he realised that the barrage had stopped. Over half their guns destroyed, the enemy unit had pulled back. He got gingerly to his feet. He swayed as he did so. Something had happened to his balance systems and the Tesla coil was sparking randomly._

_He lurched out of the foxhole, hurrying after his unit, desperate to be somewhere he could stop, just for an hour or two. Somewhere where he wouldn’t hear the sound of the shelling, that dreadful thunder that had worked its way into his mind so that he seemed to hear it even in those rare moments he got to power down. If only he could make that noise stop, make it all stop, turn away and pretend it wasn’t happening, that he wasn’t hurting people, maiming, killingslaughtering—_

No.

_He couldn’t dwell on this. He had to hurry. He didn’t want to be left behind. Not again._

Francis gazed kindly down at the little girl, who was staring back at him with liquid, slightly haunted eyes. There was a suspicious look in them. He repeated the phrases The Jon had told him. He wasn’t sure of their exact meaning, but he knew they were comforting, designed to reassure her that The Jon was a friend and to ask whether The Jon could meet her again. The little girl bit her lip, pouted and then gave the tiniest of nods.

‘Jon?’ Francis called. ‘You can come in now.’

The cap was the first thing to appear around the hospital doors, followed by the large blue eyes. There was a pause as The Jon and the little girl appraised each other and then the rest of The Jon appeared. He sidled cautiously over, stopping several beds away. Francis thought he looked rather more nervous than the girl did.

The robot bit his lip, then held up a slim hand and waved at the girl. She blinked, then waved back, her face breaking into the sweetest smile the priest had ever seen.

‘Isn’t that a sight?’

Father Mulcahy jumped and looked round to see Trapper standing behind him.

‘Oh, sorry, Father.’

‘That’s quite all right, my boy.’

‘It’s just she reminds me of my own girls. They’d love these guys.’

They watched The Jon move closer, twisting his feet across the floor in the most bizarre gait Francis had ever seen. The little girl began to giggle and The Jon doffed his cap to her. For a moment, he twisted the drab fabric in his hands, looking sadly at it, then put it back on sideways. The girl laughed harder and Francis felt his own face split into a grin.

Now The Jon was right at the foot of the girl’s bed and they were both beaming at each other. The robot made to sit down, but then glanced at Francis, clearly remembering the campstool. Instead, with a clank muffled by his fatigues, he settled on his knees by the cot, still watching in case he frightened her.

She sucked in a huge breath as he came closer, the smile dropping from her face, but she let it out a minute later. She watched The Jon with decreasing caution, finally reaching out a hand. The robot stayed perfectly still as a chubby finger touched his cheek, then stole up and tugged a golden curl. Another giggle sounded. The Jon held out his own hand and the girl put her tiny paw into it.

The robot said something in Korean that Francis thought was vaguely familiar and the girl answered.

‘Hyun-Ae,’ The Jon said. ‘Her name’s Hyun-Ae.’

‘Jon!’ cried Hyun-Ae, patting his hand. ‘Jon!’

Francis glanced up at Trapper and saw the doctor’s eyes were strangely bright. The priest got up and put a hand on his shoulder.

‘It’s good to see something beautiful in the midst of all this,’ he murmured and Trapper made an indistinct noise of agreement.

‘Y-y-y-you r-really make all these?’

‘Sure,’ Klinger said. ‘Not that it does me any good. I’ve worn this stuff for months and they still won’t give me a psycho.’

‘Say what?’

‘I’m trying to prove I’m crazy. That way they’ll let me out of the army.’ Klinger pressed his foot down as he spoke and the sewing machine whirred, adding another layer of blue silk to his latest ball gown. ‘If it doesn’t work soon, I’m thinking of painting my face like yours and saying I’m a robot.’

Rabbit emitted a bark of laughter. ‘I wish saying that worked! Then I c-c-could be out of here in three m-minutes!’

‘I don’t get why you don’t desert,’ Klinger said, neatly turning a corner. ‘What can they do to guys like you?’

‘But w-w-we don’t know where our b-brother is,’ Rabbit pointed out, sadly. ‘And if we’re caught they might split me and The Jon up. There’s no one to stop them. And we couldn’t, I mean The Jon couldn’t, cope with that.’ He carried on trailing his hand across Klinger’s racks of clothing.

Klinger finished the seam and began tying off the threads. He bit them off with his teeth, shook the dress out and held it to himself. ‘Whadda you think?’

Rabbit’s eyes widened. He leaned forward and tentatively ran the blue satin through his fingers.

‘Oh, this is… this is…’ His voice died away and Klinger was sure he heard a sniff. But when he looked up, Rabbit looked perfectly normal. Still awed at the concoction of brilliant blue material, but otherwise normal.

‘You want me to make you something? I can have it finished by Saturday?’ Klinger meant it as a joke, but for a moment he thought Rabbit was going to take him up on the offer.

Then Rabbit said, ‘Do you think R-Radar will find The S-Spine?’

‘He’s a good kid,’ Klinger said, starting work on the hem. ‘And you’d be amazed at what he can get his hands on. He’ll find your brother, don’t you worry.’

‘I hope so,’ Rabbit sighed. Steam poured out of his cheek vents.

‘Hey,’ Klinger said, ‘can you do that on my laundry when I’m ironing?’


	3. Clockwork Vaudeville

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just for anyone who doesn't know M*A*S*H terribly well: yes, Frank Burns really is like this. I will be working on his character development later, don't worry, but for now I'm presenting him pretty much as he appears in the TV show which is basically as a representative of all forms of hate.  
> My beta reader asked about this, so while I have made some adjustments to the writing, I also thought I'd just reassure people on this point.  
> Finally, I'd like to thank Equinurmae for being a great beta reader, even though he's not a fan of SPG or M*A*S*H.

Trapper paused outside the tent and, for once, not only knocked but waited for a reply before entering. On receiving it, he ducked beneath the door frame and looked around. For a moment, he wondered whether anyone actually lived here at all. Everyone had something they’d brought from home to make the place more bearable, even if it was only a picture postcard or a crumpled, stained photograph of their family.

But the robots had nothing. No photos, no books, not even any luggage apparently. It reminded him of the hollow-eyed refugees that passed through the camp: nothing but the clothes they stood up in and uncertain whether they’d ever find their family again.

‘Hi,’ said The Jon, perched stiffly on the edge of his cot.

‘D-d-do you have a job for us?’ Rabbit asked, in exactly the same position on the opposite side of the tent. His fingers flexed, gripping the edge of the bed tighter. ‘Are we needed? Were we on the r-roster, should we have been d-d-doing something?’

‘No, I just came to see how you guys are settling in.’ He spoke calmly, but the anxiety in Rabbit’s voice alarmed him. Still, he knew how to reassure nervous patients. ‘Unless I’m bugging you?’

‘Of course not!’ The Jon said.

‘Guess I’ll have to try harder then,’ Trapper said, winking.

The corner of The Jon’s mouth twitched.

A single folding chair was propped in a corner, its presence somehow making the tent look even barer. Trapper took it and settled himself in the middle of the tent, offering them the jug of water he had brought with him. There was an uncomfortable silence while he filled their enamel mugs, then set the jug down on the floor.

‘So,’ he began, trying to get comfortable on the hard wooden slats, ‘what’d you guys do before this? I was working in a hospital, but I came out here ‘cos I couldn’t stand the pace of work.’ He swung one leg over the other and his foot caught the jug. Water flooded across the floor. ‘Hell!’ he cried, looking round for something to mop it up with.

Rabbit burst into maniacal laughter, positively cackling with glee. His cot creaked dangerously as he rocked back and forth. The Jon giggled, shuffling his feet on the floor and clutching at the shoulders of his fatigues.

Trapper grinned, a hearty guffaw spilled out of him and the tension in the room evaporated.

Once they’d cleared up the water, which took a long time because Rabbit insisted on splashing in it and spraying Trapper and The Jon until they were dripping, the doctor asked his question again.

‘We’re The Steam Man B-Band!’ Rabbit cried. He had refused to settle back down and was capering in circles.

‘You guys are musicians?’ Trapper asked, surprised, ducking as Rabbit’s elbow whizzed over his head.

‘Uh-huh!’ Rabbit said. ‘That’s what Pappy designed us for!’

‘What kinda music? Hey, maybe you could play for us! It would be great to hear something that isn’t some Japanese woman trying to tell me Happy Days Are Here Again.’

‘Yeah!’ The Jon leapt up too and began bouncing up and down with a noise like a tin tray being repeatedly slammed onto a table. ‘Rabbit, can we? Can we?’

‘Yea-heh-ha!’ his brother crowed. ‘L-let’s have some c-c-clockwork vaudeville!’

‘La-Da-Da-Da-Da,

La-Da-Da-Da-Da,’

The entire post-op swayed in time to the song, The Jon rapping out the beat on anything that came within reach, including cots, bedpans and several patients. The little Korean girl, Hyun-Ae, was riding on Rabbit’s shoulders, alternately giggling herself breathless and screaming whenever he spun too fast. Her hands were looped tightly around his neck and he held her tiny ankles gently, but firmly. No matter how much he cavorted, he wouldn’t let her fall.

He danced around the ward, crashing into the bed frames for the sheer pleasure of being able to be clumsy for once, and swung past Hawkeye with half an inch to spare. The doctor jerked backwards out of the way, tripped and was caught by Trapper.

‘Can I have this dance?’

‘Honey, I’m all yours.’ The pair swung each other round in ballroom hold, scattering Lieutenants Amir and Dish, who climbed up onto the end of a cot to make way for them.

Rabbit’s optics glowed even brighter. His face split into a grin that would have made those who recognised it run for cover. As they began the last chorus, he leaped up onto the nearest cot, vaulted the patient lying in it and began springing from bed to bed, singing at the top of his voice, his bellows working overtime. The frames banged and rattled as his weight hit them and he bounced harder still, cackling exultantly as the song came to an end.

His final leap took him and his rider onto the bed that The Jon was already sitting on and the cot, already straining under the weight of one robot, gave up the ghost. Unable to catch himself, Rabbit smashed into The Jon as the bed collapsed beneath them. The thunderous crash echoed all the way across the camp and jerked several patients round from sedation.

For a moment, there was utter silence. Then Hyun-Ae, still riding Rabbit’s shoulders but somehow unharmed, burst into peals of laughter and the whole ward exploded with mirth.

‘Just what is going on here?!’ shrieked a voice over the noise. Those nearest the door fell silent as Major Burns strode into the room, Major Houlihan on his heels. His face was so red Rabbit thought he looked like an apple. One of the shiny ones the little Peters used to eat.

‘Apple-face,’ he muttered to The Jon, who giggled nervously, his eyes wide.

‘What did you say?’ the Major barked, his pale eyes flashing.

‘APPLE-FACE!’ Rabbit yelled cheerily from the floor, still entangled with his brother.

‘What-what... You!’ Burns spluttered over the renewed laughter.

‘I don’t know what it means, but it suits him,’ Hawkeye said and Rabbit gave a lop-sided grin.

‘Who is responsible for this?’ Major Houlihan interrupted. ‘Look at the state of this ward!’

The laughter died away again and everyone’s eyes turned to Rabbit. His wires tingled as their gazes pierced his copper plates but, still fizzing with an energy he hadn’t felt in months, he only cackled.

‘That’s it!’ Burns said. ‘I’m going to make you wish you’d never been... born. Or built. Whatever.’ He shook a finger at them, his upper lip trembling. ‘You’ll regret this, you piece of junk!’

‘Wait a minute,’ Hawkeye began.

‘And endangering the life of a child! You could have hurt her!’ Houlihan reached out to pull Hyun-Ae away from him.

Rabbit drew back, tightening his grip on the girl’s legs and shaking his head.

A hush fell. The many eyes were suddenly alert, suspicious.

‘Raabbiiiit...’ The Jon whispered.

The naked fear in his voice infected Rabbit too. It snarled up his gears so that he jerked stiffly, his fingers flexing.

Hyun-Ae whimpered.

The silence shattered.

‘Let go of her, you awful machine!’

‘Get away from her!’

‘Coward!’

Bodies pressed in on him, faces twisted, hands clutching and beating. Hyun-Ae screamed, a high, thin sound.

‘Stupid tin man!’

‘Stop it! Stop it!’

‘Junk!’

Something slammed into Rabbit’s side and he gasped. Hyun-Ae was pulled from his shoulders and instinctively he clutched at her skirt. The hem ripped away and a marine, who three minutes ago had been singing along with the rest, lunged for Rabbit’s wrists, pulling him away from the Korean girl.

‘What are you doing?’ Dimly he heard Hawkeye yelling over the noise and caught a glimpse of Trapper struggling to get through the crowd.

A boot collided with his side again and he felt his gears grate as they were shoved out of alignment.

‘Rabbit!’ came a frightened voice.

‘Jon!’ He struggled, his legs flailing. At last he tore his wrists out of the marine’s grip and jerked to his feet, his antique stabilisers groaning.

A nurse screamed, backing away from him.

CLANG!

Everyone froze as the sound echoed around the ward. Hawkeye had seized a bed pan and hurled it to the floor.

‘What do you think you’re doing?’ he shouted into the silence it left behind. ‘Are you trying to kill somebody?’

Rabbit let out a cloud of steam. He glanced over at The Jon, who was sitting pressed against the wall, his hands over his head.

‘We’re s-s-s-s-sorry,’ he said, dropping his gaze to the floor.

‘You’re sorry? It’s everyone else who should be sorry!’

Trapper’s words took a moment to sink in.

‘Huh?’ said Rabbit.

‘What?’ Major Houlihan shrieked. ‘They started a fight and put everyone here at risk!’

‘ _They_ started a fight? Everything was fine until you guys jumped ‘em. What do you expect?’ Trapper shot back.

‘Look at them!’ Hawkeye said. ‘Do they look dangerous to you? ‘Cos if you’re really that blind, I’m gonna have to give you all a medical discharge!’

Rabbit shivered as the gazes pinned him in place once more. If only Hatchie was still around. What wouldn’t he give to disappear inside a portal now? Or—

‘Spine...’ The Jon moaned quietly. ‘Where are you? Why aren’t you here?’

Pain crackled through his systems, entirely separate to that from the blows he’d taken and fifty times worse. What had he done? He had to keep The Jon safe, had to protect him. Had to be the big brother. He was the eldest but he’d never had to behave like it before, not until The Spine had gone.

Distantly he could hear Hawkeye lecturing someone, but he tuned it out. He’d failed. He’d put The Jon in danger, put Hyun-Ae in danger, nearly hurt the humans. And if he did that, they’d be lucky to see daylight again, let alone their brother. His bellows wheezed, straining under the weight of guilt and fear.

The people around them shifted and Rabbit flinched, expecting them to start on him again. But instead they were hurrying away. The nurses rushed to get patients back into their beds and the corpsmen vanished outside, until only the Majors, Hawk and Trapper were left.

‘Now listen here, you two... freaks!’ Major Burns said smugly. ‘You’re both under arrest, for brawling in a hospital and endangering a civilian!’

‘Knock it off, Frank,’ Hawkeye said as The Jon curled into an even tighter ball. ‘They were scared!’

‘Scared! Pierce, they’re machines, they can’t feel anything, any more than a jeep can!’

How often had Rabbit heard those words? And why didn’t they get easier to hear?

‘They got more feelings than you!’ Trapper said.

‘Major Burns is simply trying to follow military procedure,’ Houlihan said. ‘You two should try it sometime.’

‘I already did,’ Hawk replied, ‘but I can’t dumb myself down enough.’

Rabbit inched his way over to The Jon, trying to ignore the vibrations from his misaligned gears and the sparking of loose connections in his wrists. He laid a hand on his brother’s back.

‘Are you all r-r-r-right, The Jon?’

The Jon trembled and raised his head a couple of inches to stare at Rabbit, his eyes glowing in the shadow of his knees.

‘Yeah...’ he murmured. ‘Rabbit, can we go now?’

Hawkeye watched the pair shuffle out, his heart as sore as if Rabbit had fallen on it.

‘And just where do you think you’re going?’ Frank began.

‘Don’t,’ Hawkeye said. He spoke quietly but at his tone, Frank actually took a step backwards.

Henry strode in, in dressing gown and fishing hat, Radar hovering at his shoulder, just as the robots disappeared outside.

‘I was having the best sleep I’ve had in the last five months,’ Henry said, glaring at them, ‘so whatever made that din, it had better be the end of the war, ‘cos otherwise I’m gonna have your butts for back supporters!’

‘Those two robots just hurt that Korean girl! They tried to attack us!’

‘The only attacking, Frank, was done by you and the Charge of the Light Brigade! Rabbit barely touched her. She didn’t even have bruises!’ Hawk shot an angry look at Hot Lips, expecting her to leap to Frank’s defence and swear that the automatons had been on a deadly rampage.

But she only bit her lip. For once, she looked uncertain.

‘Rabbit didn’t do anything, sir,’ Radar put in. ‘He just didn’t wanna let go. I guess he liked carrying her on his shoulders.’

‘Don’t you dare contradict an officer!’ Frank barked at him and Radar quailed.

‘Holy cow, it all happens round here, doesn’t it?’ Henry breathed. ‘Look, lay off the robots will you, Frank? Things are tense enough round here without you stirring everything up.’

‘But Colonel, they’re _machines!_ ’

There it was, the reason everyone was against them. They were machines. And yet they were disturbingly human. Hawkeye wanted to hate Frank for his reaction, but for the first time, he felt like he understood the guy. Hadn’t his initial reaction been surprise, uncertainty? And couldn’t that have tipped over into fear if he’d walked in on a scene like this?

As he shuddered at the thought of _understanding_ Frank Burns, Henry continued to tick him off.

‘Frank, they might not be the most relaxing company, but they do good work and our jobs have been a hell of a lot easier these past few days with them around. And in case you’d forgotten, _doctor_ , our jobs are why we’re here,’ Henry reminded him.

‘Fine! But when the camp’s been torn apart by those _things_ gone out of control, just don’t come crying to me!’ He stormed away, righteous indignation quivering in every muscle.

Hot Lips opened her mouth and Henry groaned.

‘Don’t bother giving me another chewing out, Major. If you’re gonna report this to General Clayton, you’re welcome to. I might as well walk around with a ladder so you can go over my head whenever you want.’

‘I wasn’t going to, Colonel!’

‘That’d be a first,’ Hawkeye said sourly. ‘What’s the matter, Hot Lips, you ill or something? Or is your garter belt too tight again?’

Margaret turned scarlet, made a strangled noise of disgust and stalked away after Frank.

The remaining three doctors breathed a collective sigh of relief.

‘That wasn’t bad, Henry,’ Trapper said, clapping him on the shoulder. ‘You actually stood up for someone!’

‘Yeah,’ Hawk agreed. ‘Although what did you mean by ‘not the most relaxing company’? This is the first time those boys did anything even slightly crazy.’

‘Come on, you guys. Those eyes and not knowing how they can be alive and whether they really do understand feelings or not. Don’t tell me they don’t give you the shivers too.’

‘No,’ Hawk and Trapper said in unison, ‘they don’t.’ _Not any more_ , Hawk added in the privacy of his own head.

‘They’re just people, Henry,’ Trap continued. ‘They’re just different people.’

‘Right!’ burst out Radar. They all looked down at him and he coughed in embarrassment. ‘I mean, they’re missing their brother, just like we’re missing our families, wherever they are,’ he continued, peering earnestly through his smeared glasses. ‘If they can miss like we can, then they must be able to love like what we can, right? At least,’ he shuffled his feet, rubbing the back of his neck, ‘that’s what I think anyways.’

‘Out of the mouths of babes and tiny corporals,’ Hawkeye said, beaming at him.

‘All right,’ Henry sighed as Radar glared. ‘All right, but ask them to keep outta Frank’s way, will you? This place doesn’t need any more trouble. You two cause more than enough as it is.’

‘Okay. And don’t worry,’ Trapper said. ‘We’ll make sure everyone forgets about what happened today.’

‘Why is it that doesn’t reassure me one bit?’ Henry asked, narrowing his eyes suspiciously.

Hawkeye grinned.

_Thunder rolled overhead. Or was it in his head? That sound that never stopped, that never went away, never died, even though people died all around him. Like him, the noise just kept on going._

_Not thunder. Thunder would be welcome. Nature’s bark was worse than her bite._

_Bark, bite. Dogs. The dogs of war. Always growling for more. And he fed them, body after body. But they were never satisfied. Like his masters, it was never enough for them, no matter what he did, no matter how much he hurt others. No matter how much he hurt himself._

_‘...poor old Toby. He never stood a chance.’_

_He recognised that voice. One of the men in his unit, Stephens._

_The darkness thinned and he became vaguely aware of his body once more, of the hum as it began to power up._

_Toby... There was a face that went with that name. Pale, freckled. Brown eyes and blond hair, always scruffy no matter how often the Captain told him off for it._

_Private Toby King. Kind, even to him. Fetched him oil and water. Called him ‘sir’, even. Asked his opinion. Asked for help writing home to his girl._

_Private Toby King. Dead. Hole in his forehead. Should have saved him. Should have seen it coming. Should have obeyed orders._

_‘...brute killed him as sure as if it shot him itself.’_

_A ricochet. He’d thought Stephens hadn’t taken cover, had moved to shield him. Had broken rank to do so. Had moved to just the right position so that when the bullet came, it bounced off him and hit Toby King instead. Stephens hadn’t been in danger._

_He had killed Toby._

_‘It’s waking up.’ A second voice. Ortiz, Stephens’s friend._

_‘Nah, it’s still asleep.’_

_‘But I saw it move.’_

_‘It goes out sometimes while we’re asleep,’ said Corporal Wright. ‘Not all of it, though. Just bit of it.’_

_‘What’re you jabbering about?’ Stephens asked._

_Consciousness was dripping into his mind, filling it up slowly like treacle poured from a tin._

_‘I saw it a few nights ago. It was like this huge snake.’_

_‘That_ was _a snake, you knucklehead. They got all sorts of weird over here.’_

_‘Metal snakes, with human heads?’_

_‘What?’ Ortiz’s voice trembled. ‘You’re not serious?’_

_‘Sure am. Got up to take a leak. Saw it coming across the forest floor a way to my left. Great shiny thing with a man’s head, still wearing an army cap! I ran back to camp,’ Wright’s voice dropped lower, ‘and that hunk of metal over there was missing its head.’_

_Damn. He’d got careless. Only he, the Captain and a handful of Generals were supposed to know about his... special features. There was no disguising his basic weapons, but the reconnaissance upgrade was supposed to be secret. Because his Captain had had enough sense to know that this was exactly how the unit would react if they knew. And now they had one more to add to their list of reasons not to treat him like a human._

_‘Don’t be so dumb!’ Stephens scoffed. ‘That was just a nightmare. You scared of a little bad dream?’_

_He was fully, horribly, awake now, though he still hadn’t opened his eyes._

_‘It wasn’t a dream!’_

_‘Tell you what, Wright. Why don’t Ortiz and I prove it to you? We’ll show you that thing’s head was only in your head!’ Stephens said, guffawing._

_No. No. He began scanning his systems as fast he could, double-checking that the catches in his back were still in place. A few taped-off oil lines that still needed repair and he could do with some more hydraulic fluid, but most of his injuries from the other night had been repaired. His stabilisers and the Tesla coil were operational again and he had picked all the shrapnel out of his joints. He sighed in relief._

_‘See, I told you, it’s awake!’_

_‘Nah, it’s just venting steam. It does that all the time, even its sleep.’ Stephens’s voice deepened. ‘Or are you too chicken, Ortiz?’_

_‘No, ‘course not!’_

_‘Why don’t you prove it then?’_

_‘Why don’t you? Don’t see you making a move!’_

_‘Fine. I will.’_

_Heavy footfalls left their owner’s tent. They thudded across the tiny campsite, each sending a pulse through the ground like a miniature roll of thunder._

_Thunder..._

_He sighed again. There would be no more rest for him. His eyes opened to the evening sky, scarlet above the mountains, like blood. The blood he’d spilled._

_He sat up as the footsteps approached, then got smoothly to his feet._

_‘Good evening, Corporal Stephens.’_

_The man’s wide mouth tightened._

_‘Does your head come off, tin man?’ he asked, sneering._

_‘I’m sorry?’ Keep it calm, keep it cool, don’t rise. Obey orders._

_‘See, my pal Wright reckons you’ve been sneaking around the forest at night, when you shouldn’t have been. But only part of you, he reckons. He thinks that somewhere in there,’ a huge fist rapped its knuckles on his chest plate, ‘there’s a big old snake.’_

_‘I’m afraid he’s mistaken. There are plenty of snakes here of course, but I don’t carry any around with me.’ He smiled, for what little good it would do. Keep it calm._

_‘Yeah, that’s what I said.’ The face, round and pouchy despite the months of hard exercise and bad food, was thrust into his, eyes on a level with his own. He blinked as the man’s sour breath washed over him. ‘But then I remembered. You’re a_ freak. _’ Stephens spat the word, droplets of saliva spraying across his face plates. ‘Who knows what you’ve got hidden in there? Who knows what you’re capable of? If you can turn on your own side, who’s to say you might not be sneaking off at night to the Reds? Huh? Is that why they caught us with our pants down the other night? Is it, you walking exhaust pipe?’_

 _‘No,’ he said flatly. But he knew what was coming. It would happen, no matter how calm he stayed. ‘I would never do that. I_ can’t _do that.’_

_Time crystallised around him, each fraction of a second shining in the air, throwing off reflections. This moment had been coming since he’d been assigned to this unit. Maybe since he first went to war for the humans. Maybe it had been coming since the day he’d been built._

_Built... Someone had built him. Someone had made him. Why?_

_Who?_

_‘You know what, tin man?’ Stephens’s lip curled. ‘I don’t believe you.’_

The mess tent was buzzing when Ginger walked in next morning. As she picked up a tray, she heard the cook Igor say,

‘We’re real lucky nothing worse happened. I mean, who knows what they’re capable of?’

‘I heard they’re here ‘cos no one else wants them in their outfit,’ said Leslie, who was in front of her. ‘I can’t really blame ‘em, can you?’

‘Don’t you think that’s a little harsh?’ said Ginger, guessing they were discussing the robots. ‘I mean, our doctors have done crazier things than bounce around post-op. Remember their last party?’

‘Yeah, but they never put anyone in danger, did they?’ Igor said. ‘Well, except maybe Major Burns.’ He sniggered.

‘I don’t think Rabbit wanted to hurt that girl,’ Ginger said, thinking back to the night before. The expression on the robot’s face when Major Houlihan had confronted him had been reminiscent of a child having its favourite teddy bear snatched away.

‘Maybe not,’ Leslie said as she moved over to the coffee machine. ‘But did you see the way he fought that marine? The sergeant was lucky his hands weren’t torn off. He was real brave though, risking his life like that.’

Ginger frowned. That wasn’t how she remembered it.

‘Oatmeal or eggs, Nurse Bayliss?’

She looked down at the tureens, trying to decide which looked least inedible, the lumpy grey oatmeal or the flat and rubbery scrambled powdered eggs.

‘Oatmeal,’ she said eventually and Igor deposited a ladleful onto her tray.

‘You were there as well last night, right?’ he asked.

When she nodded, he leaned conspiratorially across the table and asked, ‘Is it true the copper one lifted up a whole cot and flipped it over with the patient still in it?’

‘What? No! A cot collapsed when he bounced on it, but it was empty apart from his brother. Where did you hear that?’

Igor shrugged. ‘Just around.’ He looked disappointed.

Ginger sighed as she collected her coffee. The army seemed to thrive on tall tales, but who was spreading these rumours? And why were people apparently believing them when so many of them had been there, had seen what had really happened?

She scanned the tent for a space and spotted one in the far corner. It was only when she got there that she realised it was empty because the robots were sitting there. Despite the crush, a gap had opened up around them. _Out of place_ , it said. _Not welcome here_.

The brothers were huddled together, as far into the corner as they could be without actually sliding off the bench. They were keeping their heads down, eyes firmly on the table, and neither was speaking. Trying not to draw attention to themselves.

If she had had a flicker of doubt as to their humanity, it evaporated at the sight of their misery. Childhood memories flashed through her mind. The separate school. The laughter and disgust. The ever-present background of fear that meant you never felt completely safe.

‘May I sit here?’

Rabbit twitched when she spoke and stared up at her with those uncanny eyes. When he didn’t reply, she shrugged.

‘I’ll take silence for assent,’ she said, setting down her tray and sliding into the seat opposite him.

The Jon looked up now too. They were both watching her with the same suspicion.

‘Can you pass me the sugar?’ she asked.

Rabbit passed her the bowl without taking his eyes off her.

‘Thanks.’

When neither of them spoke, she realised she would have to break the uncomfortable silence herself.

‘Hey, what was that song you sang last night? It sure was good.’

‘Y-y-you liked it?’ Rabbit spoke at last.

‘Yeah! Where’d it come from?’

‘We wrote it,’ said The Jon.

‘You wrote it?’

‘We were built to be musicians. We write all our own songs!’ The Jon’s eyes sparkled in a way that had nothing to do with the glow they emitted.

‘That’s amazing! I can’t even whistle!’ Ginger said and she was glad to see Rabbit’s mouth twitch into a smile. ‘So what’s that song called?’

‘B-brass Goggles.’

‘Why’s it called that?’

‘One of the lines in the song,’ The Jon explained. When Ginger frowned, unable to recall such a line, he added, ‘We left it out this time. The Spine usually sings it, but...’ He trailed off.

‘The Spine’s your brother, right? The one you’re looking for?’

They nodded, dropping their gazes to the table again.

‘What’s he like?’

‘He’s the bestest big brother ever,’ said The Jon, wistfully.

‘Hey!’

‘Except Rabbit.’

Ginger grinned. She was about to ask more, but found she didn’t need to. The Jon poured out details about his brother like a river bursting through a dam. How long had he needed to talk about this, she wondered. And why had no one listened before now?

‘He’s really kind, you know? And he knows everything. And he’s always really calm and grown-up, even when Rabbit’s annoying him.’

‘I d-d-don’t annoy him that m-much...’

‘And he always takes care of us, no matter what anyone... does.’ The Jon faltered.

‘Is he as handsome as you two?’

‘Yep! All the ladies love The Spine! He’s a real gentleman!’

Rabbit peered at her from under his hat.

‘You think we’re handsome?’

Her cheeks flushed. How had that slipped out? But looking into Rabbit’s mismatched eyes, she knew it was true.

‘Yes, I do,’ she said, lifting her chin.

‘But we’re... m-m-m-machines. We’re not human.’

‘What does that matter?’

Both sets of glowing eyes stared at her, unblinking. Steam hissed out of the vents in Rabbit’s cheeks and both bots hummed and whirred.

‘You don’t mean that,’ Rabbit said at last, looking away.

‘Of course I do. Look honey,’ she added, when it was clear they weren’t going to believe her, ‘There are plenty of folks where I come from who think I’m not human either. Just because I’m black. If I believed you weren’t people just because you’re different, just because your skins are brass and copper, I’d be no better than they are.’

A smooth metal hand closed over hers for a moment, cool, but not cold, and the blue and green eyes twinkled at her.

‘Th-thank you, Lieutenant.’

‘There’s nothing to thank me for.’ She drained her coffee cup and stood up. Noticing the hostile glances of the people around her she said loudly, ‘I’m just treating you the way you ought to be treated, boys, and anyone who doesn’t? They’re the ones who ain’t human.’

And she marched off to start her shift in post-op. The stares continued, but they couldn’t hurt her. She knew she was right and from now on she was going to do all she could for those boys. In future, if anyone tried to hurt them, be they private or colonel, doctor or patient, well, they would have her to deal with.


	4. Hunting

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry this is a week late! I meant to update last week, but my beta readers roasted me and I wanted to make sure it was good. And one of them only has time to read stuff at weekends and I wanted him to check I'd improved it enough. Thank you for waiting and enjoy!

‘Sign these, please, sir.’

‘What am I signing this time, Radar?’ Henry asked, glaring suspiciously at the clipboard Radar held out for him. ‘It wouldn’t be a pass to Tokyo that I don’t know about or transfer for someone who doesn’t exist or anything like that, would it?’

‘Oh no, sir,’ Radar said, glad that for once he _wasn’t_ trying to trick the Colonel into signing any of those things, ‘it’s just the weekly report and a request so we can get _The Petrified Forest_ next week.’ He frowned as Henry took the clipboard. He wasn’t sure what the film was, but he hoped it wasn’t a horror movie. He wasn’t good with those.

‘Okey-dokey.’

As Radar trotted back out of the Colonel’s office, the phone rang.

‘4077th MASH?’

‘Hegh Radar,’ said a muffled voice.

‘Hey Sparky. What’s up?’

‘Well,’ there was the sound of someone swallowing, ‘you said you was after a robot, right?’

‘Have you found him?’ Radar yelled down the phone, springing up from his seat.

‘Better ‘an that. I’ve found you two.’

‘Two?’

‘Yup. They’re working at an aid station. Least, they were up until a few days ago.’

Still standing, Radar closed his eyes. Something squirmed in his belly as he asked,

‘What do they look like?’

‘Er, think they said one was tall and the other was shorter. Can’t remember what their names were...’

‘Rabbit and The Jon?’ He braced a pudgy hand on the cluttered desk.

‘Yeah, that might be it...’

‘Sparky, they’re not the guy I told you to look out for!’

‘Well, what does it matter? You wanted a robot, right? What’s wrong with those two?’

‘We’ve already got those two! It’s the third one we want. Tall, steel, smokestacks up his back, called The Spine? Remember?’ He gestured wildly, even though Sparky was miles away in Seoul and couldn’t see him.

‘You trying to collect the set or something, boy?’

‘I’m trying to reunite a family!’ Radar thumped the desk and then bit back a cry of pain, sticking his hand under his arm as it smarted. ‘Oh, never mind. Just keep an eye out, will you?’

‘Yeah, all right. But you know we’ve asked pretty much everyone in Korea now and nothing. Maybe it’s not here at all.’

‘He’s got to be...’ Radar sighed, sinking into his tatty old chair. ‘Well thanks anyway, Sparky.’ He stuck the phone back into its leather bag and stared at the papers on his desk for a few moments without really seeing them. What they needed was a lead, some idea of what the army wanted The Spine for. If they knew that, they would know where to look. And who would know better why the army wanted a robot than the robots themselves?

Pausing to check the duty roster, he headed outside, intending to head for their quarters. But as he stepped out into the sunshine, he glanced through the net wall of the Swamp and saw them sitting with Hawkeye and Trapper. Diverting, he hurried round the tent to the door and opened it.

‘Hi Radar,’ Hawkeye said, raising his martini glass from where he lay sprawled on his cot. ‘If you’ve come for that miracle growth medicine, I’m afraid I haven’t had time to invent it yet.’

‘Will you cut that out?’ Radar growled. ‘Actually I came here to see Rabbit and The Jon.’

‘What d-did you want us for?’ Rabbit asked. He was sitting bolt upright in Hawk’s chair, between the two doctors’ cots, his hands resting on his knees. If it hadn’t been for the slight tremors than ran periodically through his frame, he could have been a dummy in a shop window. The Jon was perched on a stool by the stove in the middle of the tent, less stiff, but just as eerily still.

‘Well,’ Radar began, fiddling with his clipboard. He hated bringing bad news. ‘I’ve been ringing round about your brother, sirs, and I’m afraid I can’t find anything. Sparky from HQ called just now, but it turned out he just found you guys.’

Rabbit’s gaze dropped to his knees, though the rest of him stayed as still as if he’d been set in concrete. The Jon made a tiny noise, almost a whimper. He pulled his cap off his shaggy curls and began twisting it in his fingers.

‘Th-thanks for trying,’ Rabbit said quietly, a single wisp of steam curling up from his vents.

‘Isn’t there anything else we can do?’ Hawk asked, sitting up, martini put on hold. He and Trapper exchanged looks behind Rabbit’s back. Radar knew those expressions. It meant someone was going to be helped whether they liked it or not.

‘Well, I was wondering if the reason we haven’t found him yet is ‘cos we don’t know where to look,’ Radar said hurriedly, ‘and if you could tell us anything about why the army wanted The Spine, then maybe we’d know where to look for him to find him, sirs.’ He drew himself, trying to turn his short, round body into something that looked efficient and impressive.

‘That’s an idea,’ Trapper said, sitting up on his own bunk. ‘Did they say anything when they— Actually, how’d you get into this thing? I’m guessing you guys didn’t get a letter from the draft board.’

Radar saw the two bots exchange glances.

‘General Murdock came to the house,’ The Jon began. ‘It was not long after... After we lost the Colonel.’

‘And the P-Professor,’ Rabbit added, speaking to his knees. Even the tremors had stopped now.

‘Peter III had a stroke,’ The Jon explained, bending forward so that his elbows were on his knees and his eyes fixed on the floor. His curly hair strayed dangerously close to the stove, but he didn’t seem to notice. ‘He was still recovering. The General wouldn’t listen to the family, said he had to deal directly with the owner. But Peter was the owner. So there was no one to say no to them. Except us and the General wouldn’t listen to us either.’ The cap in The Jon’s hands span faster, threads straining and snapping.

‘What did he say?’ Hawkeye leant forward to catch the quiet voice, his blue eyes intent on the brass robot.

‘He mentioned... upgrades,’ said The Jon, very carefully.

Rabbit’s whole body twitched.

‘He wanted to upgrade you?’ Radar asked hesitantly, sitting gently down on the end of Hawkeye’s bunk. He didn’t want to hurt Rabbit any more than he had already been hurt, but if this was why the robots had been called up, it might be the key to finding The Spine.

‘I think so...’ The Jon peered up at him and Radar saw the grief swirling in his eyes.

 _He_ had left a family behind him, and while it might have its problems, it was intact. It would still be there when he eventually got home, ready to welcome him back. What did the robots have? They had been ripped out of an already damaged family and who knew what they would find on their return? If all of them _did_ return…

‘Did they mention,’ Hawkeye asked softly, ‘what kind of upgrades?’

‘I’m, I’m not sure,’ The Jon said. He glanced at Rabbit, twisting his cap harder than ever. The peak was starting to come away.

‘I-i-i-it’s okay, The Jon. Tell them.’ Rabbit’s dim eyes flickered briefly, blue and green, but his rigid body didn’t move at all.

‘Are you sure, Rabbit?’ The Jon asked, so quietly only Radar heard it.

‘Y-yeah. This is m-more important,’ his brother answered, just as quietly, and a wisp of steam coiled upwards from his vents to hover where the black stovepipe punctured the tent roof.

The Jon’s face plates creased in concern, then he sighed and said,

‘I’m not completely sure. The General wanted to talk to Peter III but he was still in hospital, so then he ordered us all to come with him. When we asked why, he told us we were being requisitioned for Korea.’ His frown deepened. ‘He said something about how they could make better use of us than they did… last time. Then The Spine made us leave so he could talk to him privately. When they finished, The Spine said he might not be with us this time, but it would be all ri-ght.’ His voice glitched on the last word.

‘Last time? You mean the last world war?’ Trapper asked gently, his brown eyes shining with concern. ‘What did you do then?’

‘Just helping, really, like we’re doing here.’ The Jon brushed it off, but Radar could see there were stories there he wasn’t sure he ever wanted to hear.

‘That can’t be it,’ Hawk said, tapping his fingers on his trunk lid. ‘If it was upgrades so you could help more people, why not do it to all of you? And why haven’t we found him? Radar, you checked all the medical units, right?’

‘I’ve checked every unit in Korea!’ Radar insisted, indignant that they even had to ask. He wanted to help these people and besides, when had he ever done less than his best at _any_ job?

‘W-w-we also have w-w-w-w-weapons,’ Rabbit all but whispered, ‘from the first war we were in. Maybe they wanted to upgrade those...’

Silence fell in the tent, apart from a shrill hiss of steam that burst from all Rabbit’s joints, though he stayed as still as ever. Radar’s eyes were drawn to the cheek vents, the copper plating, the dimly glowing eyes, everything that marked Rabbit out as a machine, inhuman. Whatever weapons they had must surely be worse than what the army had. And that was pretty damn bad already. For just a second, fear ran icy fingers down his back.

 _No! They’re_ people! _They’re nice guys!_ he reminded himself, sitting up straighter and adjusting his grip on the clipboard. He was _not_ going to act like most of the army did. They treated the robots worse than animals and they didn’t treat animals too well in the first place. Hell, people had been scared of _him_ before now, when what he said was going to happen had come true. It had given him that feeling, like someone had removed his stomach. He couldn’t bear the thought he might give someone else that feeling.

Radar cleared his throat, determined to help in some way, even if it was only by getting the conversation going again.

‘If the army had given him new weapons,’ he began, unable to keep the wobble entirely out of his voice, ‘wouldn’t they want to keep those secret, sirs? If no one’s allowed to talk about, maybe that’s why we haven’t found him.’

‘Could they have done that?’ Hawkeye looked between the two robots.

Rabbit nodded.

The Jon moaned, ‘But The Spine hates fighting!’

‘That’s never mattered to the army before,’ Hawkeye sighed. ‘But you’re right, Radar! If we know this, then we can find him!’

‘How?’ Radar asked. It didn’t seem to get them much further, in his book. ‘If they’ve kept it secret for this long, then the unit he’s with must be pretty good at keeping their mouths shut, sir.’

‘Maybe he’s on his own?’ Trapper suggested, shrugging.

‘Nah,’ Hawkeye said, rubbing his chin. ‘They think of him as equipment. They’re wouldn’t let a tank go off on its own, even if it could. Besides, unless he’s with a unit, our side could mistake him for the enemy. Last thing the army’d want would be to lose their weapon to their own side.’

‘So, how do we find him?’ The Jon’s voice sounded dull, listless, like he was only asking the question because he felt he had to, not because he believed there was an answer.

Everyone looked at Hawkeye. Radar bit his lip. Hawk and Trapper, they were like supermen. They’d dealt with the black market and tricked trigger-happy colonels into thinking they had battle fatigue and they put one over on Majors Burns and Houlihan on an almost daily basis, and that was aside from their actual work in the operating room. They’d come up with something this time too… wouldn’t they?

Hawkeye clapped his hands together. ‘I’ve got it!’ He turned to Rabbit. ‘I’m guessing your brother’s weapons are pretty powerful?’

‘Yeah...’ Rabbit swallowed, though why a robot would need to swallow, Radar wasn’t sure.

‘But he can’t be with a big outfit, because that’d be too many people to keep the secret, right?’ Hawkeye’s eyes gleamed. ‘So we’re looking for a unit that has firepower way beyond what it’s supposed to have. Radar, run down the reports and see if you can find something like that. You know, half a dozen men taking on a troop of tanks and winning. That kinda thing.’

‘Which reports sir?’ Radar asked eagerly, springing up from the cot, the flame that Sparky’s call had snuffed out bursting back into life in his chest. He _knew_ Hawkeye would come through in the end!

‘All of them from all the front-line units from the last couple of weeks. Then go back further if you have to.’

‘I’m on it!’ Radar tore out of the tent, straight back to his office and snatched up the telephone. _This_ time, they would find him. He was certain of it.

_The Captain had saved him. Not intentionally, but the man had appeared on the scene just as Stephens was cracking his knuckles, so Stephens had had to content himself with a threatening glare._

_But he was under no illusions. This was merely a postponement. Stephens would catch him on his own eventually. Every line of the soldier’s body, the way he carried his rifle, the looks he threw, all were filled with the promise of what was to come._

_He could run, flee into the forest that closed around them. None of them would be able to stop him and enemy guerrillas held less fear for him than the gleam in Stephens’s eyes._

_But he couldn’t run. He couldn’t disobey orders. If he did, then—_

_What?_

_Something bad would happen. Something bad..._

_It would happen to... someone. To him? No... that felt wrong. Besides, what could be worse than this?_

_If he disobeyed, someone would get hurt. But there were already so many hurt people around him. It was he who hurt them when he obeyed his orders._

_That didn’t make sense! If disobeying orders hurt people then why did obeying them hurt people too?_

_The thunder of the guns was loud in his ears. If only they would stop and then maybe he could think, work it all out._

Focus.

_Yes. He had to do his job. He scanned the undergrowth, searching for signs of movement, his blue matter rays primed, double-checking the positions of his comrades as they moved._

_He had to obey orders, because that would stop someone getting hurt._

_But who?_

‘Tell them,’ Rabbit had said to him. ‘This is more important.’

 _More important than my feelings_ , was what he had meant. They had to find The Spine, even if it meant reminding Rabbit all over again of what had happened at the Becile laboratories. Even though he still hadn’t got over it and mentioning it in front of strangers was akin to reopening a half-sealed wound with a rusty blade.

And this was true, The Jon couldn’t dispute that. But as Radar launched himself out the Swamp, the brass robot found he couldn’t feel excited about this fresh hope, because of the way Rabbit was sitting.

He was sitting still. A few days ago, The Jon would have said this was a physical impossibility. Rabbit was never still. Oh, he could behave when he wanted to, but even when he was being patient, his feet tapped out rhythms and he fiddled with anything that came within reach. That was simply how he was. But there was none of that now. He was totally and utterly still. Throughout the whole time they had been sitting with the doctors, only Rabbit’s head had moved. His hands remained resolutely stationary as though they had been screwed to his knees. Only once had he done anything else, when The Jon had mentioned upgrades and he had flinched.

A sick feeling crept through his system now, leaking out of the void in his chest to swirl around his body. Something Bad was happening to Rabbit, he was certain. But what? The Spine would know, but, The Jon sighed, resting his head in his hands, that was just the problem. The Spine wasn’t here.

‘Hey, you guys all right?’

The Jon blinked and focused on Trapper’s concerned face.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘We’re fine.’

‘Really? ‘Cos if you were humans, I’d be confining you to bed rest by now.’

‘W-w-what do you mean?’

‘He means you both look like we feel after coming off a thirty-six hour stint in the OR,’ Hawkeye said. ‘Is there anything wrong? Apart from the obvious, I mean. Anything _physically_ wrong?’

The Jon scanned his systems. ‘My oil is a little low,’ he admitted.

‘M-m-mine too,’ said Rabbit.

‘When was the last time you had any?’ Trapper asked, his forehead wrinkling under his light brown curls.

‘Erm...’ They looked at each other.

‘W-w-was it just before we c-came here?’ Rabbit said and The Jon was pleased to see him tap his fingers thoughtfully on his knee.

‘You mean you haven’t had any for days? How often are you supposed to have it?’ Hawkeye demanded to know, staring at them.

They both avoided the doctors’ eyes.

‘Why didn’t you say anything?’ Trapper said, resting a hand on The Jon’s shoulder. The contact was comforting. It felt like years since anyone had touched them like that.

‘People don’t like seeing us drink oil,’ The Jon said quietly. ‘It reminds them we’re not human.’

‘That’s no reason not to take care of yourselves!’ Hawkeye exclaimed, shaking his head. ‘How you gonna help people if your gears seize up?’

‘Yeah, you’ll have to start treating patients in slow motion,’ Trapper added.

Rabbit cackled and for a moment, The Jon’s koi did a somersault of happiness. Then Rabbit slammed his mouth shut, cutting the laugh off and the koi sank in dismay.

From Hawkeye’s narrowed eyes, he had noticed it too.

‘W-where can we get oil?’ Rabbit asked, just as Hawkeye opened his mouth.

‘Try Zale. He’s our supply sergeant. Supply room’s over there.’ Hawkeye pointed.

‘I’ll get it, Rabbit,’ The Jon said, standing up. But Rabbit shook his head.

‘You sit d-d-down, Jon boy. I’ll g-g-g-get it.’ He levered himself to his feet. The Jon watched the minute tremors that shook Rabbit’s form, the stiffness that went beyond the ordinary jerks in his movement. Was that only because of the lack of oil or was there something else wrong? Was Rabbit hiding something from him?

_‘There!’_

_Everyone dropped as shots echoed through the trees, bullets slamming into the dust. He craned his neck, trying to get a visual line on the enemy. He scrambled forwards across the ground, pressed his back against a tree trunk and peered round it. Rifles were cocked all around him as the platoon did the same. The panels in his right arm slid aside as the muzzle of his own weapon appeared._

_‘Fire!’_

_He hurled himself around the tree trunk, spraying the wooded slopes with bullets. Returning shots cracked out and the missiles rang against his plates. He took another step forward._

_Ahead of him, high up the hill. A flash of dark eyes and the gleaming barrel of the gun. Two bullets, both finding their marks. One zipped between his chest plates and lodged in his torso, severing wires and oil lines. The other punched through the Korean’s skull._

_He waded onwards, the dense undergrowth clutching at his legs like the dying while his unit fell in behind him. A walking, killing shield. Protecting._

_But no one’s protecting them from_ me.

_More movement up ahead. More bullets ripped through the trees and screams reverberated back. They wormed inside his skull to join the gunfire there. A woman’s sobs. And... a child’s?_

_Someone fired again and the screams were cut off._

_Let it stop. Let_ me _stop._

_Please..._

Trapper emerged from OR shielding his eyes, squinting against the dawn that glared over the mountains.

‘That’s sunlight, right?’ he asked Hawk. ‘I been standing over that table so long I can’t remember.’

‘Looks like it,’ Hawkeye groaned. ‘What’re you having, a drink, bed or a nurse?’

‘All three. In that order.’

They trudged over to the Swamp and settled themselves on their cots, washing away the worst of the exhaustion with gin.

‘Hey did you see Rabbit and The Jon in there? I don’t think they stopped to rest once in the whole three days.’ Trapper shook his head in amazement, pulling off his shirt and wrapping himself in his dressing gown.

‘And they must have been doing three people’s jobs each.’ Hawkeye waved a hand. ‘I know they’re machines, but surely they have to stop at some point?’

‘At least Frank didn’t start on them again.’

‘No... But did you see the looks some of the corpsmen were giving them? I think there might be trouble brewing there.’

‘I agree,’ said Trapper, grimly. ‘I think we’re gonna have to do something about that. ‘Specially if we don’t have any more casualties coming in for a bit. You know what this place is like when everyone’s bored.’

‘Right,’ Hawk said, taking another swig and closing his eyes.

Trapper laid back. The camp had been vibrating like a plucked guitar string ever since the incident in post-op and if people found themselves without anything to do, they were going to _find_ something to do that eased that tension. If it was a choice between playing tiddlywinks with the cockroaches and taking their frustration out on someone who wasn’t quite a person, he knew where he would lay his money.

He couldn’t let that happen, couldn’t stand seeing yet another person hurt. Yet, they still came, every day. He couldn’t do anything about this. But they could help Rabbit and The Jon. A long time ago he’d sworn an oath he’d help protect people. The one by Hippocrates had only made it more official.

A rap at the door was followed by the entrance of Radar, ever-present clipboard at the ready.

‘Sirs?’

‘Radar, if your next word is ‘choppers’, then I’m going to pull your intestines out of your ears and garrotte you with them,’ Hawk promised, voice muffled by his pillow.

‘Nope. The enemy’s in retreat, sir. No more casualties expected for at least a week!’

The doctors sat up and looked at each other.

‘What’s the matter?’ Radar asked. ‘You heard me, right? No more casualties?’

‘We heard you, Radar,’ Trapper assured him. He nodded at Hawkeye. ‘Guess we’d better get planning that distraction. And fast.’

‘Distraction for what?’ The corporal’s round brow furrowed.

‘We gotta make everyone in camp forget about what happened in post-op with our mechanical friends,’ Trapper explained, gravely. ‘Unless we wanna start finding them in bits.’

‘Oh...’ Radar turned pale and sat down on the end of Hawkeye’s bunk. ‘Yeah, the stories about ‘em are all over camp. People are saying that they’re always trouble, that’s why they never stay with one unit.’

‘And of course the trouble has nothing to do with how people react to them. No, it’s all the robots’ fault!’ Hawkeye was on his feet, pacing in the tiny space between his cot and the stove.

‘Calm down, Hawk,’ Trapper said, reaching for the carafe. ‘Have some more gin and let’s think this over.’

‘Right...’ Hawkeye slumped back onto his bunk.

There was a pause, broken occasionally by sloshing noises as the doctors oiled their brains.

‘Radar, what was everyone talking about before the robots arrived?’ Trapper asked, the shape of an idea flitting through his mind.

‘Erm... Well, I guess that last big party you guys threw. Where we had to put the tent back up again afterwards and Nurse Cutler did that dance, the one with her, ar, hips?’ He blushed and cleared his throat. ‘We were talking about that one for two months.’

‘That’s it then!’ Trapper said, leaping up. His muscles throbbed as he did so, reminding him he hadn’t slept in at least twenty-four hours. ‘We throw another massive party, get everyone drunk and invite the robots in. Everyone’ll be having such a good time, they won’t even notice.’ It was the perfect solution! Rabbit and The Jon would cease to be the centres of attentions and a good time would be had by all. The majors might not like it, but that was nothing new.

‘I say we get them to play again,’ Hawkeye said, sitting up.

‘But wasn’t the music what started it off last time?’ Radar said nervously.

‘Yeah, but everything was fine until Frank and Hot Lips showed up, right?’ Hawk waved away the objection. ‘We’ll just think of something to keep them out of the way. And if we have it in the mess tent, there’ll be nothing to break and no children.’

‘And everyone’ll be full of the milk of human kindness.’ Trapper grinned and tilted his glass.

‘Radar, get on the horn. We’re gonna need more milk than our still can produce. Oh,’ Hawk added as the corporal rose to leave, ‘any word on The Spine?

‘Not yet sirs. I’m still looking…’

‘We gotta find him, Radar.’

‘I’m trying! But you know how many irregular units there are in the army?’

He left and Trapper sank back onto his bunk, smiling to himself. For all Hawkeye’s arrogance, he was the biggest pacifist Trapper had ever met. Out to help everyone because he couldn’t stand to see them hurt. He rolled over and stared out through the mesh for a few moments, letting the humdrum routine of the camp soothe him. A few hours sleep, that was all he needed, and then they could get round to planning the party properly.

He sat bolt upright.

‘Hawk, come and look at this!’

‘...What?’ Hawkeye already sounded as groggy as if he’d been asleep for hours.

‘Come here! Does that look normal to you?’ He pointed as Hawkeye staggered over.

They both peered across the camp. Standing half-hidden behind the supply room, doubled over as though in pain, with one hand braced against the corrugated metal and the other clutching at his side, was Rabbit.

The doctors exchanged looks, then sprinted out of the tent, Trapper’s robe flapping behind him.

The automaton jerked upright as they approached, his hand snapping back to his side. Then he swayed as something grumbled inside his torso.

‘Woah, buddy, we gotcha,’ Trapper said, as they both grabbed a shoulder.

‘I-I-I’m fine.’ The metal plats twitched under his hand.

‘Yeah? You always walk like a croquet hoop?’ Hawkeye asked, raising an eyebrow.

‘Does it hurt if I press here?’ Trapper applied some pressure to the place Rabbit had been clutching and the robot’s stifled hiss told him all he needed to know. ‘Come on, let’s get you to a bed,’ he said, steering Rabbit towards the hospital.

‘N-no!’ Rabbit dug his heels into the dirt.

‘We need to examine you,’ Hawkeye said. ‘It’s very hard to do that if you’re still walking around.’

‘The hospital’s... for h-humans...’

‘It’s for people who are sick,’ Trapper said. ‘You qualify.’

‘B-but the others... won’t s-see it that way.’

The doctors stopped trying to drag the reluctant robot and looked at each other.

‘He has a point, Hawk. We put him in there and a certain major is gonna start asking why he’s taking up a bed. And we’re trying to avoid trouble at the moment.’ Trapper looked sternly at Rabbit. ‘If we take you to your tent instead, will you promise to let us look you over?’

‘A-all right...’ the copper man sighed.

Even with two of them, it was hard work getting Rabbit across the compound. It was not only his weight, which he could still partly support, but his bulk and the shiny surface of the metal beneath his fatigues meant it was hard to keep a proper grip on him. When Trapper clutched at the fabric beneath his hand to stop Rabbit overbalancing, he heard stitches snap. At least the summer rains hadn’t yet started, so for once the compound was not a quagmire.

Finally, Hawkeye wrenched the door open to the bots’ tent and they staggered sideways through it. They lurched in a circle until Rabbit was facing the right way, then let him slide slowly backwards onto the cot.

‘Th-thanks. I’ll be okay now.’

‘Nice try. Now let’s have a look at you.’

‘I can f-f-fix myself.’

‘Then why haven’t you?’ Hawk asked quietly.

Rabbit’s mismatched eyes flickered for a moment. ‘I need someone’s help,’ he admitted. ‘I c-c-can’t reach everything.’

‘Why not ask your brother?’ Trapper pulled up the chair and Hawk perched on the edge of Rabbit’s cot, which creaked in protest.

Rabbit pushed himself up gingerly on his elbows and a thick cloud of steam issued from his vents. ‘I didn’t wanna worry him,’ he muttered. ‘Without The S-Spine, I gotta be the one to protect him. He was so scared that n-n-night and it was my f-f-f-fault.’ His voice trembled.

‘If it was anyone’s fault, it was Frank and Hot Lips’s,’ Trapper said, but the film of oil thickening on Rabbit’s eyes told him the robot didn’t believe him.

‘Did you get hurt that night?’ Hawkeye asked. ‘When you had an argument with that marine’s foot?’

Rabbit nodded.

‘All right, well if you know what needs to be done,’ Trapper said, ‘we can do the actual doing.’

Rabbit bit his lip. Was that... fear that Trapper saw in his eyes?

‘You might be mechanical, but we’re pretty used to fixing people up,’ he said reassuringly.

‘Yeah,’ Hawkeye said. ‘And all we’ll do is what you tell us. We can follow orders. When we want to, at least.’

The corner of Rabbit’s mouth twitched. ‘O-okay.’

He had been torn between desperately wanting their help and hating the thought of anyone’s hands near him, near his core. The gears the marine had kicked had shifted further and further out of alignment, grating on each other and sending agonising tremors through his whole system and something was pressing on his bellows so they no longer inflated properly. Helping out in the hospital had become harder and harder as he fought to disguise his injury from The Jon. Rest would have made it easier, but rest would also have told The Jon that something was wrong. And the last thing The Jon needed was his brother hurt when The Spine was no longer there to take care of them.

‘And all we’ll do is what you tell us.’ Somehow Hawkeye had found precisely the words he needed to hear.

‘O-okay.’ Jerkily, he unbuttoned his fatigues. ‘You’ll need some tools,’ he said as he did so and Trapper shot off to see what he could dig up in the storage tent.

Hawkeye sucked in a breath through his teeth when he saw the dent in Rabbit’s side.

‘It’s n-not that big,’ he told him, truthfully, but the doctor didn’t seem reassured. Rabbit lay down again and opened his chest plates. He caught the discomfort on Hawkeye’s face before it was pushed firmly away by professional detachment. He couldn’t blame him. All humans found it strange the first time to see someone opening their own chest, even surgeons. Maybe especially surgeons, because they knew most of all how everything fit together and how it was supposed to _stay_ together.

‘First lesson in robot anatomy,’ Hawkeye muttered. ‘Tell me what everything is and then I won’t touch something I shouldn’t.’

‘The b-big blue thing is my p-power core,’ Rabbit began. ‘Do N-N-N-N-NOT touch it, you hear?’ His voice squeaked higher than he meant it to as visions of Becile’s laboratory filled his mind. He tried to push them away, but lying down like this, with a human bending over him…

‘Okay!’ Hawkeye lifted his hands to show they were nowhere near the power core. ‘Don’t go near it. Got it. But what _is_ it? It’s not like any engine I’ve ever seen. Not that my repertoire is exhaustive.’

‘Uh-uh,’ Rabbit said stubbornly. ‘I ain’t telling.’

‘Fair enough. What’s next?’

‘Above it is my boiler. Don’t touch it unless you wanna g-get burned. The l-leather things are my bellows.’

‘Boiler, bellows. Anything wrong with them?’

‘My bellows aren’t inflating properly...’ Rabbit admitted. ‘It’s k-kinda hard to breath.’

‘How long has this been happening for?’

When Rabbit didn’t reply, Hawkeye said, ‘Let me guess, since that night in post-op? And I thought doctors made lousy patients!’ ‘The gears here,’ Rabbit pointed, ignoring the outburst, ‘they’re outta alignment. You need to put ‘em back. That might f-fix my breathing. And I got a couple of loose connections in my wrists. I did a t-t-temporary job on them but you really need t-two hands.’

‘Anything else?’ Hawkeye asked. ‘No missing parts or huge holes in your side that you’ve been trying to brave out?’

Rabbit chuckled. ‘No. P-promise.’

At last, Trapper came back with a tool kit. ‘I didn’t know what we’d need, so I took everything I could find,’ he panted, heaving it into the tent and setting it down by the cot.

Rabbit guided them through the process, giving them a crash course in robot repair as he did so.

When Hawkeye first put his hands inside his chest, fingertips sending tremors along his wires, Rabbit flinched.

‘You all right?’ Trapper asked.

‘F-fine.’

‘Is that the same “fine” you gave us earlier?’

‘It, it, it just feels weird...’ Which was true. Even though it was a sensation he’d long been used to, it was always a little strange when something _Other_ touched his gears, his oil lines, all the bits of him that were supposed to be kept _inside_. But that wasn’t the real reason. He wasn’t about to confess that he was scared his power core would cripple them, or mutate them, or even vaporise them on the spot. However much he knew that that had only happened because the Beciles had been deliberately meddling with it, he still didn’t trust it. Didn’t trust his own heart.

They seemed to buy it though and carried on, hesitantly extracting the gears for Rabbit to inspect. Fortunately they weren’t as worn as he’d expected. A little filing and they were ready to be reinserted.

‘This is the first time I’ve ever had to put bits of metal back _into_ a patient,’ Hawkeye remarked. ‘How’s your breathing now?’

‘N-normal.’

After that he only had to close his chest plates again and then cut the power to his arms while they rewired his wrists. At least then he could be sure nothing bad would happen to them, that he wouldn’t hurt them by accident.

‘Th-thanks, docs,’ he said, sitting up.

‘Stay down,’ Hawkeye ordered. ‘You need to rest.’

Rabbit stuck out his chin, putting on his stubborn face.

‘You’ve been on call for seventy-two hours straight,’ Trapper pointed out. ‘You’ve earned a break. Now go to sleep. We don’t want to see you anywhere near the hospital until tomorrow, you got that?’

‘B-b-but—‘

‘You’re gonna be more use to us if you’re not falling asleep on your feet,’ he pressed on.

Rabbit sighed. It was exactly what The Spine would have said... So that was what he needed to do. He had to stop acting like, well, like Rabbit, just until The Spine came back. The Jon needed him to be sensible, no matter how hard it was.

As they were leaving, Hawkeye said,

‘Oh. We’re gonna be throwing a party. We want you guys to play, okay?’

‘U-us?’

‘Yeah. We figured it would make everyone forget what happened the other day.’

‘And possibly the whole week,’ Trapper added. ‘Depends how much they drink.’

As The Jon approached their tent, he noticed the three sets of footprints leading up to the door, the middle ones scuffed as though their owner had been dragged. His void seemed to contract suddenly. That feeling he’d been having the last few days, since sitting in the Swamp, was back with a vengeance.

He scuttled closer and his audioreceptors caught the voices drifting through the walls of the tent.

‘I need someone’s help,’ muttered Rabbit’s voice. ‘I c-c-can’t reach everything.’

The Jon swayed, his stabilisers slow to react. His brother was hurt! He must be! Repairing his own internal workings was about the only thing that Rabbit would ever admit to being unable to do. Why hadn’t he said anything?

As if he had heard The Jon’s thoughts, Trapper said, ‘Why not ask your brother?’

He shouldn’t eavesdrop. He and Rabbit were frequently told off for it at Walter Manor. But this was different. His brother was _hurt_. He _had_ to make sure he was going to be okay.

‘I didn’t wanna worry him,’ came the reply, so softly that The Jon had to strain to hear it. ‘Without The S-Spine, I gotta be the one to protect him. He was so scared that n-n-night and it was my f-f-f-fault.’

Post-op. Rabbit with Hyun-Ae on his shoulders. Major Houlihan reaching out to take the girl away and Rabbit drawing away, refusing to let her go because for the first time in months they were having fun and he was desperate not to let it end. Desperate not to have to go back to the war, to having a brother missing. And then screaming and shouting and The Jon had curled himself up into a ball and shut his eyes tight and tried to pretend it wasn’t happening. A few people had banged into him, but all the attention had been on Rabbit.

And before Hawkeye had dropped the bedpan, there had been other clanging noises. Like someone hurting his brother.

But Rabbit had said nothing. Rabbit, who normally howled blue murder on the slightest pretext, had walked around for days in pain so that The Jon didn’t have to worry.

So that The Jon could keep on pretending that none of it was happening.

There were footsteps inside the tent and The Jon ducked around the corner before the person came out. He watched Trapper hurry over to the storage tent, listening to Rabbit and Hawkeye talking.

He heard Rabbit’s fear as he shouted, ‘Do N-N-N-N-NOT touch it, you hear?’ If Rabbit hadn’t had to work so hard to protect The Jon, he wouldn’t have had to have someone else meddling with his insides, stirring up memories only recently laid to rest. The Jon could have done it for him.

He sat on the ground by the tent wall, knees drawn up to his chest, listening to the two doctors repair his brother, a job he should have done already. And as he sat there, he replayed the last few days in his mind. How Rabbit had worked three days non-stop even though he must have been in pain. How he hadn’t suggested sneaking out to get oil after dark, which was what they usually did in other units. How he had sat so stiffly in Hawkeye’s chair, as though afraid he would break it if he moved so much as one set of pistons. And as The Jon sat there, thick black droplets inched their way down his face, leaving wide, glistening tracks that dried slowly on the brass plates.

As the door closed, Rabbit blew out a huge plume of steam. It had been building up in his system as the doctors worked on him, but he hadn’t let it out for fear of burning them. He was about to obey their instructions and power down when he remembered that the other cot was empty.

Rabbit sat up. Where was The Jon? He had mentioned getting some water at the end of their shift, but surely he should be back by now. And The Jon needed rest quite as much as he did.

But then the door opened and the familiar, slim form of his brother sidled through the gap.

Relief bloomed in him, only to be crushed next second by panic when he saw The Jon’s face.

‘A-a-a-a-are you all r-right?’ he stuttered, jerking himself off the bed, horrified at the tear tracks on his brother’s plates. ‘What’s h-happened?’

But The Jon pushed him firmly back onto the cot and sat down in Trapper’s chair.

‘I’m sorry, Rabbit,’ he whispered, fresh oil bubbling up in his eyes.

‘S-sorry? For what? W-what’s wrong?!’

‘I should have fixed you.’

‘F-fixed me? I-I’m not—‘

But The Jon ignored him and carried on.

‘You didn’t tell me you were hurt because you didn’t want to worry me, because you want to protect me.’

Rabbit closed his eyes with a soft groan. ‘You heard, huh?’

‘Yeah... And you need to stop it!’

Rabbit’s eyes shot open again.

‘Huh?’

The Jon was suddenly glaring at him, shaking a brass finger in his face. Rabbit leaned away, going cross-eyed as he tried to keep the end of the finger in focus.

‘Bad Rabbit!’ The Jon shouted. ‘You should have told me! I could have fixed you and then you wouldn’t have had to go days and days in pain!’

‘It was only a few d-da—‘

‘Stop trying to be The Spine!’

Rabbit froze. His mouth opened, but only a thin wisp of steam emerged from it.

‘Please!’ The Jon begged, as oil spotted the floor. ‘You shouldn’t have to be someone you’re not just to take care of me. I should be taking care of myself! And you too!’

‘But Jon...’

‘I saw the way you were sitting, stopping yourself from touching anything in case you started acting like Rabbit again. In case someone got angry and it scared me. Well it would scare me, but that’s not as important as you being hurt! And you were hurt, Rabbit, and trying to pretend everything was fine made it worse! And that’s _my_ fault!’ His voice cracked and he threw himself at Rabbit.

Rabbit wrapped his arms around his brother and held him as tightly as he could.

‘You’ve gotta be Rabbit again, you hear me?’ The Jon whispered into Rabbit’s shoulder. ‘And this time I’ll take care of you!’

‘Nuh-uh,’ said Rabbit stubbornly. ‘I’m oldest. I’m in ch-charge!’ He felt The Jon grin, face plates shifting against his uniform. Black droplets started in Rabbit’s eyes and slid down his cheek vents to speckle his shirt. He didn’t care. Without realising it, he had been cut off from both his brothers. But now he had one back and soon, soon, they would have the other one too.


	5. The Party

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry if this chapter disappeared for a bit. I uploaded it yesterday but for some reason it didn't move me to the top of the list, so I redid it today.

Rabbit glanced sideways at his brother as they walked towards the mess tent. The Jon was clutching Trapper’s ukulele and his face was set in a stubborn expression Rabbit knew very well. The Jon had been wearing it for the past hour, when Rabbit asked if he was sure they wanted to play tonight.

‘I should be asking you that,’ The Jon had said, mulishly.

But for some reason, Rabbit wasn’t nervous. Maybe because he knew Hawkeye and Trapper would be keeping an eye on things, or maybe just because he was no longer trying to hide his feelings from The Jon and the elation at having his brother back at his side was carrying him through.

Noise streamed out of the tent: voices mixing with multicoloured lights, a drunk’s light tenor competing with a cool jazz record and losing badly.

Rabbit shot his brother a twisted grin and they entered.

Hawk and Trapper had been right. Everyone was having too good a time, or was too drunk, or both, for anyone to pay much attention to the automatons. They picked their way slowly through the crush of bodies, heading for the end of the tent where a tiny stage had been set up.

Hawkeye winked at them from underneath his cowboy hat as they passed. Trapper didn’t notice them. He was doing a very slow shuffle with Ginger and didn’t seem to be aware of anything going on around him at all.

Once they’d got to the stage, The Jon strummed the ukulele, checking it was in tune. He tweaked a peg, tried again, then nodded. Rabbit caught Hawkeye’s eye and passed on the nod. The black-haired doctor slithered through the crowd and turned off the record as the song came to an end.

Casually, the robots leaned against the stage. The Jon began to strum softly. When Rabbit recognised what he was playing, he smirked. Yes, something slow and relaxing to start with, to match the record that had just finished.

‘Out in the rain...

Out in the sun...

Out in the rai-ain...

Out in the sunshine...’

The crowd barely noticed to begin with. Trapper and Ginger closed their eyes and swayed together. Rabbit spotted Major Houlihan speaking to Hawkeye. She seemed to be asking a question. Then Hawkeye jerked his head at the stage and Houlihan started when she saw them. Rabbit winked his blue eye at her and grinned when she flushed.

When the song changed rhythm, he and The Jon got nonchalantly up onto the stage and when they finished there was actually some applause.

‘What you clapping ‘em for?’ he heard a drunken Zale ask. ‘They’re machines!’

And Ginger, gyrating slowly past with Trapper said, ‘You say that again, soldier, and I’ll tell everyone in camp what I had to prescribe for you the other day.’

‘You tell ‘im, honey,’ Trapper said and trod heavily on Zale’s foot.

As Zale limped away, swearing, they started ‘On Top of the Universe’. The Jon made the best of his and The Spine’s harmonies, but even without his brother Rabbit was brimming with energy. He could feel the audience, their appreciation, their joy in the music. He was back doing what he had been built for, the only thing he had ever wanted to do. As long as they played, there were no patients, no casualties, no war.

This time the applause filled the tent, punctuated by whoops and whistles. Rocking from foot to foot, Rabbit drank it in and it fizzed through his system like champagne. Giddy with it, he shot a sly grin at his brother and called out,

‘Attune your ears to the grinding gears!’

Everyone who had been in post-op the other night held their breath, but Rabbit didn’t care. He had the bit between his teeth now. He would show them. He opened his mouth and poured all that bubbling energy out into the song.

The infectious tune did its job well. He could almost see it winding around hearts, tugging on toes until they tapped and setting hips swinging and heads nodding.

He looked into Major Houlihan’s uncertain eyes as they soared through the second verse.

‘Will I ever be something with feelings to hide?’

And then he grinned and twitched his eyebrows at her as they geared up for the chorus. She softened, returned the smile and a moment later was singing along with the rest.

_The guns were firing. Or was it the ones in his head? He couldn’t tell the difference anymore._

_He took another step and his foot twisted, like it had last time. And the time before that._

_He fell. Like last time. And the time before that._

_Step, twist. Fall. Step, twist. Fall. Gaining inches each time._

_Someone had walked through this forest yesterday. Had that been him? Their legs had eaten up the ground. Eaten it all up. Maybe that was why he couldn’t walk anymore. The ground had been eaten. No ground to walk on, so no walking._

_Who had eaten it? Who had stopped him walking?_

_A face drifted across his mind. Toby... No, Toby wouldn’t do that. Poor Toby... Poor Toby had been kind. He wouldn’t eat the ground away._

_Stephens?_

_Ice-cold fear lanced through his body and the world refocused around him. There was the ground, still intact. And there was his foot. It was at the wrong angle. He bent over but he wobbled. He sat down instead and straightened out his foot. Pain which had gone unnoticed now cracked through his circuits, racing all the way up his body until he had to open his mouth to let it bellow out into the night._

_The screams in his head joined it but instead of rushing out and vanishing, they grew stronger and louder until they reverberated like thunder._

_No, gunfire._

_Light burst through the night and his head snapped around._

_Shelling._

_Fire._

_The camp._

_His unit._

‘Margaret, I’ve been thinking about what you said the other day...’

‘Tell me later, Frank.’ She was preoccupied watching the duo on the little stage. They seemed so harmless when they sang, so carefree, totally unlike the flailing metal monster she had seen the other night.

Now she wondered if that was really what she’d seen. The girl, Hyun-Ae had been in its... _his_ clutches. No, she’d been sitting on his shoulders. And now she thought about it, the girl hadn’t had a scratch on her, even though the robots had been in a tangled heap on the floor. When she and Frank had entered the ward, everyone had been laughing and Hyun-Ae had been wearing the biggest smile she had seen in a long time.

 _Surely I was right to be concerned for her safety_ , she mused, as Rabbit began singing a slow love song. _But maybe I did overreact..._

She had been angry about the wreckage of the ward, so when she saw Rabbit holding Hyun-Ae... Hawkeye’s bitter words came back to her. Though she hated to admit it, maybe he had been right. Maybe all the attacking _had_ been on her side...

‘Margaret? Are you listening to me?’

‘Oh, go away Frank.’ Couldn’t he see she was trying to think?

‘You’d rather listen to those tin men than me?’

‘At the moment, Frank, yes, I would,’ she said bluntly. Another song had started and her foot was tapping of its own accord.

Frank continued to grumble, his thin upper lip disappearing as it always did when he was upset, but she ignored him, because Rabbit had just looked straight at her. How could his eyes glow like that and still be so human, so _alive?_

‘Will I ever be something with feelings to hide?

Or am I just some boiler with nothing inside?’

Rabbit’s brows twitched at her and his mouth split in a lopsided smile. How could metal be so expressive, so... comic?

She suddenly found she was grinning back at him and when the chorus started she couldn’t help but join in. A line formed across the mess tent, everyone holding on to each other’s shoulders and swaying almost in time with the music. Margaret was right in the middle, singing at the top of her voice. When was the last time she’d let her hair down like this? Long enough that she couldn’t remember at any rate.

Rabbit finished on a deep note and then gave his characteristic maniacal cackle. Laughing, Margaret found herself between Pierce and MacIntyre, her arms still round them and theirs round her.

‘Good on you, Major,’ Pierce said, looking down at her.

‘You were right about them and I was wrong,’ she said and to her surprise, the admission didn’t cost her a moment’s trouble.

‘Margaret!’

‘Oh go away Frank,’ she moaned again. ‘I’ll dance with whoever I’ll listen to whatever music I want.’

‘But Margaret, no matter how good the music is, they’re not _people_.’ Frank’s watery eyes flashed in disgust and indignation that she was ignoring him for the robots and his two least-favourite captains in Korea.

‘Not people?’ Pierce rounded on him. ‘Did you even listen to that song? Do you really think something that was just a machine could have a musical existential crisis?’

Frank’s nostrils flared and his whole body quivered in righteous anger.

‘All I heard was its own admission that it doesn’t have any feelings!’ he spat. ‘Next you’ll be offering psychiatry to your gramophone!’

‘Only if it’s been anywhere near you, Frank,’ Trapper said, smirking. ‘It’ll need it to recover.’

‘Baloney!’ Frank turned to Margaret and said, ‘I’m disappointed in you.’

‘Not as disappointed as I am in you,’ she replied coolly and she turned her gaze resolutely on the stage, where The Jon was now singing a lively, but confusing, song about magic. Frank stalked away in a huff or rather, as the tent was so crowded, squirmed away, losing much of his composure in the process, and Margaret was finally free to lose herself in the music.

_Dark, twisting shapes. Tree branches silhouetted against the explosion light._

_The accelerating scream of a falling shell._

_Then a shockwave that ripped the ground from beneath him, flinging him onto his back. Dirt and shrapnel pummelled his plates._

_For a moment, all his sensory units cut out. But the noise didn’t stop. He struggled, drowning in the screams that poured through him, his mind so much flotsam on the waters of the flash flood._

_Light, ripping savagely through the darkness._

_The infernal drumming of the shells._

_The flood waters receding._

_He lurched back to his feet and stared into the hellscape that had once been a camp._

Save them...

Radar hovered at the edge of the crowd, wondering whether the two papers clutched in his fist were going to scorch his hand. Sweat ran down his temples, the warmth of the evening magnified by the crush of people. He watched the two robots singing, saw the smiles on their faces and bit his lip. Would they still be smiling after he’d given them both lots of news?

A quake ran right down his body. No, he couldn’t be the one to tell them. He searched for Captain Pierce, standing on tiptoe to get a better look at the room. The first thing he spotted was the ragged black feather on Trapper’s hat. Then there was a flash of red from Hawkeye’s robe. He wriggled towards them, for once appreciating his short stature. Getting through crowds was about the only thing it came in handy for.

Major Burns shouldered roughly past him as he approached, but the man was too distracted to really notice Radar, for which he was extremely grateful. He didn’t need any more problems just at the moment.

He tugged on the red dressing gown. ‘Hawkeye?’

‘What is it, Radar?’ Hawkeye said vaguely, without looking round.

‘Do you have a minute, sir?’

‘No, but I have change for an hour.’

‘Please? This is serious!’ He gazed earnestly up into the doctor’s face and Hawkeye sighed. He dropped his arms from around... Major Houlihan? Radar tried not to stare at the chief nurse as Hawkeye led him back out of the mess tent. He had never seen the Major looking so... relaxed.

‘What is it?’ Hawk asked once they were alone.

‘It’s these, sir,’ Radar said, holding out the two messages.

Hawkeye took them, squinted, then moved further into the light spilling out from the party so that he could make out the words. His eyes widened.

‘Radar, are you sure?’

‘Yes, sir.’

‘But this is wonderful! Why didn’t you just tell them?’

‘The other one, sir.’

Hawkeye read the second piece of paper.

‘Oh.’

‘Yes, sir...’

They were both quiet for a moment, listening to the sounds of a ukulele and The Jon’s voice uplifted in a whimsical song. The night was balmy, but Radar shivered.

‘All right, Radar. I’ll tell them.’

‘Will you, sir?’ Radar felt the weight lift from his shoulders. ‘Thanks Hawkeye. I hate being the one to always give people bad news.’

‘We’ll wait until they finish playing,’ the doctor decided.

They made their way back into the mess tent. Radar looked at Hawkeye’s face and knew the news he’d brought had broken the spell of the party.

They stood at the edge of the crowd and though Hawkeye got another drink, he didn’t join in again with the dancing. They just waited until the hospital staff began to stagger out, heading for their beds. Heading for someone’s bed, at least.

Major Houlihan grinned as she passed them and bumped gently into the doorframe. Then she swayed to the left and slid past it, out into the night.

Hawkeye stretched and, hands in the pockets of his robe, sauntered across the mess tent to the two robots, Radar at his heels, wishing he could be as calm as the doctor was. The Jon was regretfully giving Trapper his ukulele back, while Rabbit hummed to himself and jigged on the spot, obviously still buzzing.

‘We got some news for you,’ Hawkeye said, without preamble. ‘Some of it’s good. Some of it… is less good.’

Rabbit stopped with his hands over his head and one leg still in the air. He lowered them, his boot thudding on the floor. ‘G-g-g-good news first,’ he demanded, his head ticking slightly to one side.

Hawkeye turned to Radar. ‘Go on. You should tell them. I’ll them the other thing.’

Radar took a deep breath.

‘I’ve found The Spine, sirs.’

The two automatons froze. Neither said a word. They simply gazed at him, their eyes blazing blue and green.

‘You sure?’ Trapper asked, his eyes shining too.

Radar felt his mouth curl into a shy grin. ‘Yes, sir. I found a platoon that’s real strange, you know? Like, they don’t seem to report to anyone directly and there’s a captain in charge instead of a lieutenant and a few days ago they got ambushed by Chinese artillery and they took ‘em out. The 17th went to their rescue but by the time they got there, the Chinese had lost four guns and they were pulling back. But there’s only supposed to be 16 men in that platoon, sirs, and they’re infantry and no one could tell me what they were supposed to be doing and I couldn’t get hold of anyone in the platoon, so I spoke to a guy in the 17th and he swore he saw them retreating and there was this one guy holding off the enemy with lightning and this weird blue stuff,’ he finished in a rush, then took a huge breath.

At the word ‘blue’, Rabbit twitched.

‘Th-th-th-that’s gotta be him,’ he breathed. Then he grabbed The Jon’s hands and swung him around, jumping up and down and crowing at the top of his voice, ‘W-w-w-we f-found The Sp-Spine!’

The humans scattered as the heavy robots careered around the tent, discarded cans crunching under their feet. The Jon began yodelling, so loudly he even drowned out Rabbit’s cries of joy.

Watching them, Radar wished with all his heart that that was the only news he had for them.

Eventually, they calmed down and The Jon let go of Rabbit’s hands. He danced over to Radar and hugged the startled corporal. Oil glistened on his face plates and soaked the back of Radar’s shirt, but he didn’t care at all.

‘Thank you,’ The Jon whispered, over and over again, his embrace surprisingly gentle for someone so strong. ‘Thank you.’

‘It was nothing,’ the clerk said, his cheeks burning with embarrassment and his glasses misting up with steam. ‘I just wanted to help you guys, like you’re always helping people.’

‘I’m afraid I have to give you the less good news,’ Hawkeye said gently as The Jon released Radar. The two robots moved closer together, their eyes suddenly watchful.

‘W-w-what is it?’ Rabbit stuck out his chin and squared his shoulders.

Radar peered up at Hawkeye, noted his unusually grave expression and heard what the man said half a second before it came out of his mouth.

‘I’m really sorry, guys, but you’re wanted at an aid station for the 38th Infantry.’

Rabbit’s eyes flickered. ‘You mean we gotta leave?’

Hawkeye nodded.

‘What?’ Trapper stared at Hawkeye, then at the robots, anger and disbelief warring on his face. ‘Isn’t there anything we can do? Can’t we keep you here?’

The Jon shook his head, a sad smile on his lips. ‘The front-line units have priority for us,’ he explained, ‘because we can save lives without risking human ones. You already save 97% of the soldiers who come here without a machine’s help. But we can improve the chances of those boys getting here alive for you to do your work. We can’t do that unless we go back to the front.’

‘You mean you’re okay with being shipped around like this?’ Hawkeye asked, anger snapping in his voice, as Radar gazed at The Jon. ‘When you’ve just found out where your brother is? If you stay here, maybe we can work out a way of getting you all together.’

But The Jon merely looked steadily at him. ‘Now we know where he is, we can try to reach him. This is more important.’

Rabbit nodded in silent agreement.

Radar stared at the two robots. Did they really believe that? But looking into the glowing eyes, he knew it was true. Everyone here wrestled with themselves, resenting the need to care for others, to do whatever was necessary to save lives. These guys didn’t resent it at all. There was sadness in those optics, misery at the thought of going back to the war with only half their problem solved, loneliness at being without their brother. But there was no resentment, no anger, not a trace of the bitterness that lurked, hidden, in the 4077th. Perhaps there had been once. Four wars seemed to have worn it away.

‘You know,’ Hawk said, seemingly in a brave attempt at his usual glibness, ‘no one’s going to believe you’re alive if you don’t start cultivating some proper human emotions. Like selfishness and hatred and envy.’

There were weak smiles all round.

‘When do we ne-need to go?’ Was that tremor in Rabbit’s voice his usual glitching or a suppressed sob?

‘As soon as possible…’ Hawkeye stuffed the missive into the pocket of his robe and Radar heard what he was thinking. _Can’t let them see it’s a requisition form, not even proper orders. Why the hell can’t the army see they’re_ people?

 _Because they’re more useful if they’re not alive_ , Radar thought. But he didn’t have an answer to that problem, any more than Hawkeye did.

It was an uncomfortable party that gathered to see the robots off next morning. The muggy heat of summer had not yet tightened its grip on Korea and there was still some semblance of freshness in the air. Weak though the morning sun was, it stabbed into the eyes of every human present, shining on the bots’ face plates and even casting a gleam on the dusty, beaten-up jeep that was waiting for them. Hawkeye suppressed a groan and made a mental note not to drink for at least an hour.

‘Well, er,’ Henry Blake began, stumbling over his words even more than usual, ‘it’s, er, really been swell having you boys here and we, er, hope someday you’ll comeback and visit us... someday.’

‘Yeah, you’d better,’ Trapper said, trying to grin. ‘You don’t keep in touch with us, we’re gonna keep in touch with you, you hear?’

‘Let us know if you hear from your brother, boys,’ Ginger said. ‘We’ll keep trying to get in contact with him too.’

‘Take care, my children, won’t you?’ Father Mulcahy peered at them, concern furrowing his brow.

Rabbit’s mouth formed the same lopsided smile it had worn almost permanently during last night’s party. ‘D-don’t worry,’ he said. ‘We’ll be f-fine.’

‘Well we’re going to worry, unless we hear from you.’

Hawkeye jumped at the sound of Houlihan’s voice. When he hadn’t seen her at the send-off, he’d assumed she’d had a change of heart. Here she was, striding up to them, brimming with correct military discipline. But her voice held more warmth and affection than Hawkeye had ever heard in it before. He smirked at her and she met his eyes defiantly.

‘Yes, Major,’ The Jon said, a smile playing around his own lips now. He suddenly bent his knees and shuffled a few steps to the left and right, as he had last night when he and Rabbit had been arguing about who had written the next song they were going to play.

Hawkeye suddenly realised it was his turn. ‘See you around,’ he said casually. And then, on impulse, he stepped forward and hugged Rabbit tightly. He felt the warm chassis stiffen under his arms and then relax, carefully returning the grip. He had known the robots, what, a week? A week and a half? Yet it felt like he was parting from a lifelong friend.

He released Rabbit and turned towards The Jon. The brass robot hit him, knocking his breath out of him, embracing him as hard as he could. He squeezed back. Something stung his eyelids and he blinked it away. He didn’t need Radar’s super senses to know that it would be a long time before he saw the mechanical brothers again, but now wasn’t the moment to give in to that grief. He shoved it aside, bricking it up along with his anger that they were being sent away and the guilt that he couldn’t do anything to prevent it.

‘Goodbye, sirs,’ Radar said as Hawkeye and The Jon broke apart. ‘I’ll keep trying to get hold of The Spine for you and I’ll let you know the second I—’

But he never finished, because both robots had thrown their arms around him. He disappeared between them as their taller forms closed around him like a living metal cage.

His squawks of protest made the corner of Hawkeye’s mouth twitch. And then he was doubled over laughing, one hand beating against his thigh. More voices joined in, Trapper’s guffaw, chuckles from Henry and Father Mulcahy, Ginger’s giggle. Even Hot Lips was shaking, though she stayed quiet. Hawk caught a glimpse of Radar’s arm, waving helplessly form between the khaki uniforms and his own mirth redoubled, bursting out of him in that high-pitched cackle that had everyone in camp gritting their teeth.

He laughed at it all, at Radar’s absurd position, at the expressions on the faces of passing corpsmen, at the hideous cruelty of the war for tearing so many good people apart. Laughed, because it was safer than crying. Because if they had to leave, he wanted them to leave on a high.

The flood waters receded. Hilarity faded and Hawk was able to wipe his streaming eyes with impunity. Silence fell on the little party standing by the jeep until it was broken by the automatons.

‘G-g-goodbye.’

‘Goodbye.’

‘And thanks for everything,’ they said together. Four eyes, three blue, one green, met the gaze of each one of them. And then they climbed into the back of the jeep. The driver shifted, clearly uncomfortable at being near the robots.

‘Look after yourselves,’ Hawkeye said and then the engine revved.

They all raised their hands as the car pulled away. They stood and watched it as it bumped along the uneven road, under the wooden sign that proclaimed ‘Best Care Anywhere’, past Rosie’s bar and was swallowed up by the trees.

The dust kicked up by the wheels gradually cleared, floating gently back to settle on the road once more.

Voices chattered in the mess tent, unaware, perhaps uncaring, that something was now missing from the 4077th.

Arms dropped limply back to their owners’ sides, aching.

Radar stiffened.

Hawkeye sighed.

From the other side of the mountains came the faint, familiar sound that haunted their every dream. The whirr of rotor blades.

‘But they said no more casualties for a week!’ Frank griped as he pushed his way into the OR.

‘They changed their minds,’ Trapper said dully as he slipped on a new pair of rubber gloves.

Hawkeye, staring into the hot, bloody cavern that was a young man’s chest, merely grunted. He hadn’t thought the war could dull his nerves anymore, but the sight of the bots driving away had done it.

And there was worse to come.

‘Er, Hawkeye?’

‘What is it, Radar? Clamp.’

‘Clamp.’ The instrument was pressed into his hand and he closed it on the vein that was spilling out the soldier’s life as he watched.

‘It’s... It’s...’

‘Spit it out, will you? I’m trying to stop this guy drowning in his own blood before he chokes to death on all this junk inside him.’

‘You’d better read it...’

Hawkeye sighed, checked that the patient would survive without him for a few moments, then lifted his hands from the open chest and looked round.

He saw Radar’s face before he saw the clipboard being shoved under his nose. The corporal was pale and sweaty, like someone who had donated three pints of blood while battling off the flu. What in hell had happened?

He glanced down at the clipboard, at the note scrawled in Radar’s awkward handwriting.

A hole punched itself through his gut, leaving nothing but a vast, sucking void that threatened to engulf him.

‘Hawk?’

He was dimly aware of Trapper’s concern, of Ginger asking him if he needed anything.

He waved Radar over to Trapper, to show him what was wrong. Then he stared back into the young soldier’s gaping chest wounds, wondering if they felt anything like the one in his stomach. He gritted his teeth and forced the memory of what he had just read away from him, imprisoning it behind those same walls where he put everything that he simply didn’t have the luxury to deal with at the moment. That jail was getting awfully full.

‘Suction,’ he said calmly, as though he wasn’t raging and crying inside. As though this whole bloody war wasn’t completely futile because what was the point if they couldn’t even reunite one family?

As though the message Radar had brought hadn’t read,

‘PLATOON IN QUESTION DESTROYED LAST NIGHT BY ENEMY BARRAGE. NO SURVIVORS FOUND. NO MACHINES RECOVERED.’


	6. Special Delivery

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a quick trigger warning for decomposition.

As he emerged from the hot and stuffy hospital into the hot and stuffy compound, Trapper tried to curse the Korean climate. He couldn’t even muster the energy for that. The last remnants of spring had definitely vanished in the last few days, strangled by the summer fog that was bearing down on the camp like a pile of woollen blankets. The air was so thick with moisture and heat it took conscious effort to draw breath and ghostly shapes loomed out of the swirling mass like unnatural predators, only to resolve themselves at the last minute into friendly faces.

One such unpleasant encounter turned out to be the round, bespectacled face of Radar. Trapper started when he appeared suddenly next to him, but Radar seemed unconcerned. Perhaps it was that damned spooky hearing of his.

‘You quit sneaking up on people, or I’m gonna sew bells all over that cap of yours,’ Trapper threatened, heaving a sigh of relief.

‘Hey!’ Radar frowned and went to carry on his way, but Trapper stopped him.

‘Have you—’

‘I haven’t gotten through to the 38th yet, sir.’

‘Damnit, Radar, we gotta let those boys know that their brother’s…’ He tailed off, unable to say the word ‘dead’.

‘I know! I’m trying!’ Radar protested. ‘But they got cut off by the enemy, sir. Their lines are down. We just have to wait until we can get through to them.’

Trapper nodded, rubbing his aching eyes. If Hawk had been here, he would have blustered and sulked and tried to think of a way of getting in contact with the 38th anyway. But he was already conked out in the Swamp and desperate as Trapper was to get through to Rabbit and The Jon, he simply didn’t have the energy to pursue it right now. Days of surgery had drained it away.

He let Radar go and as he stumbled towards his tent, he wondered if he even had enough energy to get himself there.  _ If I was a robot, my batteries would be flat… _ he thought.  _ No, they don’t have batteries, do they? My boiler would be dry. My fuel tanks would be empty. Funny. They don’t seem to have fuel. That power core… Swirling blue. Hot. Heat comes out. But nothing goes in… _

His legs collided with the edge of a cot. It was probably his. His knees buckled and he fell face forward. He was asleep before he hit the pillow.

_ Blue… Swirling blue… Blue heat that suffocated him where he lay… _

‘Attention!’ The PA system jerked Trapper out of his disturbed dreams. ‘Enemy attack expected! All personnel to the hospital immediately! Repeat! Enemy attack expected! All personnel to the hospital! Immediately!’

‘What?’ he heard Hawkeye cry from the other side of the Swamp.

Trapper felt the tiredness disappear under the surge of adrenaline brought on by panic. He stumbled upright, bumped into the stove and then careered outside.

‘What’s going on?’ he called into the fog which still had the camp in its clutches.

Corporal Klinger burst out of the fog, his gold turban askew and a sandbag hoisted on his shoulders.

‘MPs spotted something coming down the road!’ he cried. ‘Couldn’t see what it was, but it wrecked their car! Must be the Commies! They’re heading right for us!’ he called as he vanished again.

Trapper pelted back into the Swamp to tip Hawkeye out of his bunk.

‘Move it, Hawk! Come on, Frank!’ he snapped and without waiting for them to respond, he dashed across to the hospital. His feet skidded in the mud, sending splatters up the back of his pants and he cursed. He shouldered through the swing doors and found pandemonium in post-op.

‘Doctor!’ Houlihan was hurrying towards him. ‘We’re moving all the patients further inside and setting up barricades.’

‘What?’ Trapper stared at her.

‘We’re getting ready to withstand an enemy attack, MacIntyre! We need to make sure we can hold out until help arrives!’

‘There’s only one thing we can do and that’s surrender! We can’t subject our patients to a siege!’ he cried, disbelieving. She was a nurse, what was she  _ thinking? _

‘It’s our duty to hold out as long as possible!’ she insisted, almost vibrating with military fervour.

‘Don’t be ridiculous!’

Hawkeye had arrived, trailed by Frank, the former bleary-eyed, wrapped in his dressing gown and the latter trembling with either patriotism or fear. A moment later, Henry appeared, sweating profusely and gazing around wild-eyed, as though hoping a higher authority was going to appear and save him from making any decisions.

‘We’ve got to surrender, Henry!’ Trapper said, before either Frank or Hot Lips could make a sound.

‘Oh no,’ Henry waved his hands, backing away a pace. ‘We went through this that time the sniper was shooting us up. I can’t surrender without orders!’

‘How long have we got, Henry?’ Trapper cried. They had to do  _ something _ .

‘The MPs at the nearest checkpoint reported an attack ten minutes ago,’ Henry explained, still sweating. ‘Something busted up their car and it’s headed our way!’

‘Ten minutes ago?!’ Ice-cold fear crystallised in his stomach.

‘But Colonel,’ Houlihan said, her voice rising sharply, ‘that means they’re almost on top of us!’

_ How long until they arrive? How long do we have left? _ Questions looped themselves through Trapper’s mind and there was silence. Everyone around him was listening, waiting.

_ What will happen to us? _

A high-pitched scream tore through the cloying air.

Trapper bolted out of the hospital, the others on his heels, blood racing through his veins and his heart thundering in his ears like artillery fire.

They were here.  _ They were here. _

The fog was thinning, revealing the frozen shapes of the hospital staff, their gazes fixed on something ahead of them. Trapper felt his legs carry him forward, each step weighed down with a terrible sense of inevitability. As he passed the Swamp, he brushed Frank’s shoulder. The doctor turned his head to stare at him, his thin lips shrinking back from his teeth in a ghastly smile like something from a death mask.

Trapper took another step forward and then another, his eyes fixed on the ground. Something clunked towards him through the fog. Fear crushed his guts with steely fingers. He couldn’t bear to look up, to see the horror approaching him.

But he didn’t have to, because of the smell. Bile rose into his mouth at the stench of rotting flesh, of old blood and of machine oil that poured from it in a relentless tide.  _ Oil… It _ wasn’t smell. It was poison, treacle-thick, pouring into his lungs, filling them up like tar, unstoppable. Each shuddering breath drew it deeper inside him. A buzzing filled his ears. He choked and, at last, looked up.

Green light glowed through the fog and something metallic glinted in the light that bounced back.

It was tall, shaped like a man, but no man walked like that, with slow, bouncing steps that carried the same unstoppable weight as a glacier. And no man’s eyes cast that sickly green light over everything.  _ Green… _

It was doubtful, too, whether any man could still be walking when his torn clothing was splashed with so many huge, dark stains.

Unless the blood hadn’t come from him. Trapper glanced down.

Cradled in its arms, in some obscene parody of care, was a soldier’s corpse. There was no doubt he was dead. He could hardly be anything else, with half his torso missing. And the rest of his body bloated, discoloured, putrefying in the heat of the summer.

Trapper gazed right into his chest cavity, saw cracked bones gripping soft, greying flesh, saw dark liquid drip from it and the pale, writhing forms of maggots amid the clustering black flies. Then the ground rushed up to meet him, hitting him in the knees, and he vomited until his stomach was empty. He heard someone close by doing the same but he couldn’t look up again. He stayed on his hands and knees, his entire body trembling. He had seen dead bodies before, too many of them, but they had only been hours old, not days.

‘...Ple-eeaasse...’ came a deep, husky voice that rasped on the ear. Just in front of him, two feet, one booted, the other bare and soiled metal, came to a stop.  _ Metal...?The _ smell crammed itself down into his lungs and he heaved again, his stomach now dry.

‘...Help... him...’

‘What?’ Trapper gasped, wiping his mouth on his sleeve. Was it

‘…Hosp…ital… Help…him…’ The thing took another heavy step.

‘Help who?’ came Hawk’s shaking voice from nearby. ‘A corpse?’

As though that had been their cue, the hospital staff backed away from the figure, compound, ducking into the tents and around corners, scared, but still watching the nightmare figure and its grisly burden.

Trapper scrambled backwards again and finally managed to get to his feet. He glanced around and realised that only Henry, of all people, and Hawkeye were left with him.

‘…Pleeassse… Help…’

‘Steady people,’ Henry muttered, licking dry lips and swallowing hard.

Trapper looked back at the figure, forcing himself to see the corpse with a clinical eye. The man had been dead a couple of days. The heat had no doubt sped up the decomposition.

‘We can’t help him,’ Trapper said, his voice trembling as much as he was. ‘He’s dead.’  _ Was it you that killed him? _ he wondered.

The figure said nothing. It just stood there, gazing at him with those unnerving, blank eyes. Eyes that shone straight through him. Eyes that flickered, the green light growing dimmer.  _ Like... _

It was close enough now that he could see the face they stared out of. Under layers of filth and streaks of crusted black sludge, there was… something. Something he couldn’t put his finger on.

Hawkeye edged over to Trapper and Henry.

‘That’s one of our guys it’s carrying,’ he said, out the corner of his mouth. ‘Why would the enemy try to save one of us?’

‘You think it’s really tryna help?’ Henry asked, his brow creased in folds of anguish.

‘Either that or the Chinese have suddenly got much better at mind games,’ Trapper said, automatically taking refuge in black humour. It helped a little, enough for him to get his brain working again.

‘Yeah and the only thing to scare me this much since I got here has been our own side,’ Hawkeye agreed. He wasn’t even joking. It would hardly be the first time the army had done more damage to its own people than then enemy had.

Something that had been nagging at Trapper ever since he’d laid eyes on the shape in the fog now clicked into place and his mouth fell open as he turned back to gaze, not at the corpse, but at the thing, no, the  _ man _ , holding it.

‘What?’ Hawk asked. ‘What is it?’

Trapper took in the whole figure again. The glowing eyes, the gleam of metal beneath the stains and the ragged uniform, the dark liquid that dripped sluggishly down his neck and the steam that issued from his joints, curling out to thicken the fog. The face beneath the grime.

‘MacIntyre?’ Henry caught hold his arm, but Trapper barely noticed.

‘…Spine?’ he asked. ‘Are you The Spine?’

The other two snapped their heads up to stare at the robot.

‘Holy cow...’ Henry breathed. ‘I thought his unit was wiped out?’

‘He survived...’ Hawk suddenly laughed. The sound cracked out, loud and harsh in the tense silence, then died as the fog swallowed it. ‘He survived… That’s great!’

‘You call  _ that _ ‘great’?’ Trapper jabbed a finger at the silent angel of death. Was his friend hysterical?

The mirth vanished from Hawkeye’s face as quickly as it had come. ‘At least we don’t have to tell Rabbit and The Jon their brother’s dead,’ he said quietly. ‘That’s gotta be something to be happy about, ri—’

The robot interrupted.

‘Plee-asse... Help... him...’ he repeated.

‘Look,’ Henry said, opening his hands in a helpless gesture, ‘I’m sorry, but your buddy’s dead. We can’t do anything for him now.’

The eyes dimmed for a moment as the head, still covered in the blackened remnants of an army cap, tilted downwards.

‘...He’s... injured... Please... gotta... help...him...’

Something was wrong, badly wrong, if he couldn’t see the guy was gone.

Hawkeye took a step towards the automaton, hands spread wide.

‘He’s a lot more than injured,’ he said gently. ‘I’m sorry, but there’s nothing we can do for him.’

‘...Noooo!’ The emerald eyes suddenly blazed and steam gushed out of his mouth. Hawk backed quickly away. Then the glow dimmed again and there was a high-pitched whine running through the rasping voice now, like a keen. ‘...Why... won’t you... help hiiiimm? ...Why won’t... anyone... help himmm?’

‘He’s not gonna believe this guy’s a stiff,’ Trapper muttered, as they shuffled slowly backwards together. ‘What do we do?’

Hawkeye opened his mouth, but Henry beat him to it.

‘What we do with any patient that comes here,’ he said. Then he turned his head, without taking his eyes off the robot, and bellowed, ‘Klinger! Get out here with a stretcher!’

‘I don’t think a stretcher’ll hold his weight,’ Hawk said, casting an uneasy look at Trapper.

‘It’s not for the robot, Pierce. Now, which of you is gonna persuade him to let the guy go so we can take the body away?’

Trapper glanced at Hawkeye and saw his own reluctance mirrored in his friend’s eyes. If it really was The Spine, he wanted desperately to help the guy out, but something was terribly wrong with the robot if he couldn’t see that the soldier was dead. If he was unstable, then trying to help him might give the robot a second body to hold.

‘Guess it’s it’s-lonely-at-the-top, I’ve-gotta-make-all-the-big-decisions time, isn’t it?’ Henry sighed. ‘All right. Trapper, you spent the most time with Rabbit and The Jon, right? You do it.’

Trapper swallowed and nodded. Then he swallowed again, because the first time hadn’t dislodged the stone that was filling his throat. Well, there was no point putting it off. Slowly, trying to avoid any sudden movements, he walked back towards the robot. His nose seemed to have shut down completely, but even so, he thought he could taste the decay on the air.

‘...Please... Help... him...’ The plea was quiet now, resigned, as though the speaker no longer expected anyone to aid him.

‘We will. We’re gonna help your friend,’ Trapper said, gesturing at the men behind him and at the faces crowded at the doors and windows of all the tents.

‘...Pleeeassse...’

Had he even heard him? Raising his voice and stepping still closer, Trapper said,

‘We will! We’re gonna take care of him!’

The eyes flickered. He was close enough now to hear the whirring and grinding of mechanisms. He was no engineer, but this guy was in a bad way. There were grating noises that surely couldn’t be a sign of anything good and the steam that drifted from the robot’s joints was thin and wispy. Whenever Rabbit had been stressed, clouds of the stuff had come out of his cheek vents. This guy must be under pressure like he was sitting at the bottom of the sea, so where was the steam?  _ His boiler must be almost dry _ , Trapper realised.  _ We’ve got to get some water in him. If he’ll just let us help him! _

He was barely two feet away now, stubbornly refusing to look at the decaying wretch between them. The glowing eyes flickered again and suddenly focused on him. Trapper froze, wondering whether the new alertness in them was good or bad.

‘Will you... help him..?’

‘Yeah,’ Trapper reassured the bot.

Footsteps hurried up behind him and Henry hissed, ‘About time, Klinger!’

‘See?’ Trapper continued. ‘We got a stretcher here for your friend. So you just put him down on the stretcher and we can take him into the hospital, okay?’ He kept eye contact as he spoke, making casual gestures with his hands.

The stretcher bearers moved into his peripheral vision.

‘Don’t look, Radar,’ Trapper warned, when he saw who had been roped into helping Klinger.

‘My eyes are shut, sir.’

‘Now you just put your friend down here, okay?’ Trapper indicated the stretcher.

The emerald eyes moved to it and back again.

‘You’ll... take... care...of...him?’ Relief and suspicion warred in the voice, which rasped worse than ever. Oil. He must be short of oil, too.

‘Yeah, we’ll take care of him. But we can only do that if you put him on the stretcher.’

The head tilted down again and for a moment the arms flexed, drawing the body closer. Then the robot turned stiffly, stepped forward with that odd, slow-motion lurch and laid the corpse on the stretcher as tenderly as if he were tucking a child into bed at night.

Klinger, his eyes fixed resolutely ahead of him and a green cast to his olive skin, shuffled round and led the way back to the hospital, Radar trotting blindly behind him, hands clutched around the stretcher poles and muttering ‘Don’t look, don’t look, don’t look,’ under his breath.

‘...Thank...yooouuu...’

Trapper turned back to the robot, just in time to see him crumple. He darted forward and caught the man around the chest. He stumbled under the weight and Hawkeye rushed in to support the robot from the other side.

‘We gotta get some water and oil in this guy,’ Trapper panted. ‘If he goes down, I don’t think we’ll get him up again.’

‘Can you walk to the hospital?’ Hawkeye asked.

The man nodded. His eyes had gone blank again, but he still seemed to hear them. When he took a step, though, his leg trembled violently and almost gave way.

‘Someone get us some water!’ Trapper called, glaring at the mass of faces that were pressed against the mesh walls of the Swamp. ‘And some oil! Move it, this guy’s in trouble!’

Seeing him vulnerable, holding onto them for support and with the grisly corpse nowhere in sight, Trapper felt the fear release his insides. He was just another patient, another man who’d done everything to get his buddy to safety, who’d put his life on the line to save another’s. And now it was up to them to make sure he didn’t lose it.

‘We’ve got you,’ he said to the metal man, determined to keep talking to him, to keep him conscious. ‘We’re gonna take care of you too.’

The robot opened his mouth, but only a tiny thread of steam came out, accompanied by a wordless rasp.

And then he collapsed. His whole weight fell on the two doctors and they stumbled. Their hands slipped on the metal and there was a thud and a splatter of mud as the heavy chassis crumpled into the dirt.

Under the harsh lights of the operating room, Hawkeye surveyed the body in front of him with a medical eye and a sinking heart. There was so much damage here, he would have been hard pressed to repair it on a human, where he knew what he was doing. Did he have any chance at all on a mechanical man?

Whether he was the missing brother or not, he was their patient now, so they had done exactly what they did for every other patient. He had been carried inside, though it had taken six people to do so, and they had begun topping up his boiler the way they’d give a human blood and then they’d cut away the ragged uniform and cleaned him as best they could and wheeled him into the OR on a gurney. He and Trapper had ordered water, machine oil and any replacement parts Radar could find and press-ganged Zale into the role of technical adviser, as he knew something about how cars worked. His knowledge and their experience of repairing Rabbit were all they had. It wasn’t anything like enough.

‘Where do we start?’ Trapper asked, brown eyes anxious over his surgical mask.

‘If he was human, we’d be cutting him open. Guess we gotta get under the plating.’

‘But Rabbit opened it up for us last time. How do we get in?’

They both looked at Zale, who shrugged. ‘Carefully?’ he suggested.

‘We’d better start with the holes,’ Hawkeye decided. ‘Maybe we can lever the plates away there.’

There were a lot of holes. There were tiny ones, where something had forced its way between two plates, and medium-sized rents in the steel. But there were also two huge craters in the robot’s torso and they were ominously free of oil, as though he’d already bled out. God alone knew what force it had taken to do this.

The first plate they tried was loose. They hooked their fingers around the edges and slowly pulled at it. It wobbled slightly.

‘I think it’s fastened there, doc,’ Zale said, crouching down so that he could see underneath the plates.

‘Screwdriver,’ Hawkeye said to Ginger, who had volunteered for nurse duty before anyone could be asked. Lucky, because no one else had been willing to do it, to care for the nightmare that had just walked into their camp.

‘Screwdriver,’ she said, handing it to him as casually as if he’d asked for a scalpel.

Gently, they eased the first plate off and set it carefully aside, then removed a second one. Hawkeye sucked in a breath. The damage was… unbelievable. The lack of blood and flesh should have made it easier to look at. But it didn’t. If anything, it was more macabre, because he hadn’t spent months getting used to it.

Wires had been sheared in half by whatever explosive force had wreaked so much havoc on the body and every now and then an end would spark dangerously. Thick, black liquid coated everything, congealed and dried in places and elsewhere there were splashes of red. Not blood. Hydraulic fluid, maybe?

Hawkeye swallowed and glanced up at Trapper, who stared back at him with wide eyes.

They couldn’t fix this.

The knowledge filled his stomach, weighing it down. They might be able to replace the wires, even the oil lines, but what about the gears and pistons and the hundred other components they didn’t even know the  _ names _ of, let alone functions or the shapes they were supposed to be. And this was only the first injury they had to deal with.

‘Doctor?’ Ginger asked, concern in her voice. ‘Can I get you anything?’

‘Some rags and some white spirits,’ Zale advised. ‘That’s how I always get oil out of stuff.’

Hawk nodded at Ginger and she disappeared out of the OR to relay their request to Radar. In no time at all, the stuff had arrived and he and Trapper scrubbed the oil out of the wounds as best they could. While they worked, Ginger monitored the patient, checking that the faint hum was still coming from his chassis, that he was still emitting steam and that he wasn’t overheating. They were the only indicators they had as to his condition. Hawkeye just hoped they did indeed mean that the robot was still alive. The guy had nearly killed himself trying to save someone. They  _ couldn’t _ let him die now, not after that. If it was The Spine, Rabbit and The Jon would truly be alone, with not even the hope of finding their brother to sustain them.

At last, the worst of the oil had been cleaned away. Hawkeye had to fight down a surge of fury when he uncovered the scratched paint job that had been daubed on the robot’s chest: a star and the words ‘PROPERTY OF THE UNITED STATES ARMY’. Wasn’t it enough that they had taken everything from these guys, even their claims to being people? Did they have to scrawl it on their bodies too?

But raging about it would not help the robot now, so he ignored Trapper’s hiss of anger as he spotted it and began clamping the severed oil lines as if they were bleeding veins. Worryingly, the patient still wasn’t leaking, but they couldn’t risk him losing any more if he started. Then, with the aid of a thick pair of insulating gloves, Sergeant Zale guided them through replacing and reconnecting the electrical circuits.

‘Don’t get electrocuted,’ Zale warned them. ‘They’ll have my tail for it if we’re a doctor short.’

‘Very public spirited, isn’t he?’ Hawkeye said to Trapper. It was feeble banter, but it soothed a few twanging nerves.

‘Pliers,’ Trapper said, though a line in his forehead smoothed out.

‘Pliers,’ Ginger said, handing them over.

Hawkeye held the length of wire steady as Trapper cut it to the right length and then connected it.

‘I’d think we’d better replace these oil lines next,’ Hawk said. ‘If we don’t get some oil back into him, he’s gonna be moving like he’s in chains when he comes round.’

‘ _ If _ he comes round,’ Trapper said, quietly.

Hawk turned to Zale, intending him to go and chase Radar for the spare oil lines he was supposed to be looking up. But the second he opened his mouth, Radar came bustling into the OR, face covered by a cloth mask, even though it wasn’t technically necessary when their patient didn’t have to worry about infections, and his hands clutched tightly around a bundle of spare lines.

‘I got everything I could find,’ he said, depositing them on Ginger’s instrument tray. ‘Do you need anything else, sirs?’

‘Only an engineer’s degree, Radar,’ Trapper said as they began work on the oil lines.

An hour after they’d begun work, they had replaced the wires and oil lines. They had fixed something, but it was only a part of what needed fixing in this one wound, the part that Zale could guide them through.

Hawkeye scanned his patient’s body, a familiar despair building in his chest. An hour gone already and there was still so much more to do. So much they didn’t know how to do.

Ginger moved round the table. She lifted the robot’s head while she tipped a little more water down his throat, followed by some oil. Just a little. They didn’t want him to dry out completely, but too much oil would bleed straight out of him again.

Hawkeye sighed. He glanced at Zale, who nodded encouragingly. Then he looked at Trapper. Trapper gazed back at him.

‘Come on, Hawk,’ his friend said quietly. ‘Let’s get this done.’

His legs trembling with exhaustion, Hawkeye leaned on the doorframe, gazing into post-op at the battered silver frame of the automaton. Eight hours of work and they had finally repaired everything they could. Not all of the oil lines and wires had been replaced; they simply hadn’t had enough spares, even after Radar had sabotaged the camp’s hairdryer and Henry’s jeep.

But in all that time, the robot hadn’t moved a single piston. They had given him more oil, more water. He should, they hoped, be repaired enough to power back on. But he hadn’t and there was nothing they could find, no button or lever, to bring him round. They just had to wait.

‘You did good, doctor,’ It was Ginger, her face as haggard as he felt.

‘Maybe. But it might not be enough.’ Most of the time he could pretend that risk didn’t exist, but every so often a patient arrived who seemed out to prove he was human. Imperfect. Incapable of saving everyone.

‘You know what?’ said Trapper’s exhausted voice, as he came to stand with them, ‘I think I might start doing house calls after all. I don’t think I want my patients coming to me anymore.’

Hawkeye smiled weakly.

‘When do you think he’ll come round?’ he asked, hoping one of them had an answer.

‘When he’s ready, I guess.’ Trapper sighed and rubbed his face with a long-fingered hand. ‘We should get some rest, Hawk. The nurses’ll take care of him.’

‘Yeah.’ Hawkeye nodded slowly. But he didn’t make a move towards the door and neither did Trapper and Ginger.

‘Doctor,’ Ginger said, biting her lip, ‘I suppose he really  _ is _ The Spine?’

‘He must be,’ Hawkeye mumbled. ‘There can’t be any other robots wandering around Korea.’

‘But didn’t Rabbit and The Jon say The Spine had smokestacks up his back?’ Trapper asked, glancing towards the bed where their mechanical patient lay motionless. ‘That guy hasn’t. And I asked if he was The Spine and he didn’t reply. What if it isn’t him? Who is he?’

‘I don’t know,’ Hawkeye sighed. ‘Guess we’ll find out when he wakes up.’

They lapsed into silence. The waiting, that was the hardest bit of the whole goddamned show. Waiting for the patients to arrive. Waiting for them to recover. Waiting for the guilt to fade when they didn’t.

The three of them stood in the doorway, gradually leaning on each other for support as exhaustion took hold of their limbs, and waited.


	7. Terrors

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is the last of my backlog of chapters, so from now on I'll have to write each chapter before I publish it. I can't guarantee they'll be every week on schedule but I will try. I can promise that I will finish this fic!

Agony, building. Building. Pain beyond pain. Pain normal. Eternal.

Step. Another.

Keep walking. Keep going. Get help.

Billowing white all around.

Walking.

Walking.

Stumbling, stopping.

Walking.

Figures appearing, shouting.

Trying to speak, explain, ask for help.

Gunshots. Yells. Bursts of pain puncturing the agony, feeding it. A jeep looming out of the fog, grumbling closer. Stumbling out of the way, clutching the injured man, keeping him safe.

More pain. Metal crunching, shrieking. Figures scattering.

Why won’t they help him?

Agony building. Building. Pain beyond pain. Pain normal. Eternal.

Step. Another. Keep walking… Keep going… Get… help…

Walking.

Walking…

…Walking…

Tents looming out of the white. Figures appearing, shouting. Screaming.

Someone collapsed. A flicker of concern.

But the soldier was more important.

‘…Ple-eeaasse…’ Asking for help.

‘Help who? A corpse?’

What corpse? Didn’t they understand? A man’s life was at stake!

Figures disappearing, somewhere into the blackness that ringed the swirling white.

‘We can’t help him. He’s dead.’

Who was dead? Why did they just stand there talking when a man needed help? The soldier was seriously wounded. The walk had been so long… Had to be in time…  _ Had _ to be…

‘Spine?’

Spine? What were they talking about? Couldn’t they see? It was a chest wound. It was  _ killing _ the man and they just stood there, talking. Laughing!

‘Plee-asse…’ Begging now.

‘Look, I’m sorry but your buddy’s dead.’

Dead? No! He couldn’t be! Had to be all right,  _ had _ to be in time!

Looking down. Assessing wounds. Soldier. Still. Unconscious. Wound gaping.

Explain… Make them understand… Try… Injured…

A figure, stepping closer. ‘…there’s nothing we can do for him.’

‘…Noooo!’  _ They weren’t listening!  _ Why couldn’t they  _ see? _ Anguish spilling out into the white. ‘...Why... won’t you... help hiiiimm? ...Why won’t... anyone... help himmm?’

More shouting, talking.

Can’t walk anymore… Have to help…

Different figure.

‘…Please… Help… him…’ Begging, but not believing. So dry… So tired… Pain…

Voice. Saying something.

Ask again. Have to save the soldier… No matter the cost…

‘We will! We’re gonna take care of him!’

_ What? _

He stared at the man who had spoken. Had he really said that, or was he imagining things?

‘Will you… help him?’ Low on oil, low on water… Low on everything. Once they’d taken care of the wounded man, he had some serious repair work to do…

More people appearing from the fog, a stretcher between them. It seemed… too good to be true… All this time and finally someone would help?

‘Yeah, we’ll take care of him. But we can only do that if you put him on the stretcher.’

Put him down… Gently… Don’t disturb the wound any more…

‘…Thank...yooouuu...’

Focus slipping again. Voices drifting. Too quiet.

‘Can you walk to the hospital?’

Nod.

Step.

Stumble.

Falling.

Stopped. Something holding him.

Voices.

…White… turning dark…

Agony, building… Building… Pain…beyond pain…

Pain everything…

Eternal…

Hawkeye shuffled into post-op the next morning in his trademark robe, his hands in his pockets. He yawned widely and Lieutenant Amir smiled. He wandered over to the desk in the corner and gave her a wink.

‘Miss me?’ he asked.

‘Yes,’ she said, leaning back in her chair. ‘You stood me up.’

He groaned, rubbing a hand across his face.

‘We had a date last night, right?’ Damn it. Even having a good reason didn't necessarily mean he'd get away with it.

‘Before the robot turned up, yeah.’

‘Sorry. How about tonight?’ She didn’t seem that upset, so she’d probably agree.

‘All right.’ She smiled again, blinking the enormous, dark eyes he found so irresistible.

‘Great.’ It was his turn to grin now. ‘Or if you want, we could go behind a screen now and I could give you a full medical?’

‘Doctor, I think you should attend to your patients,’ Amir said, reprovingly, refusing, as usual, to be drawn into such talk during working hours.

‘Oh, I’m always patient for you,’ Hawk said, batting his eyelashes.

Instead of answering, she turned him by the shoulders and propelled him towards the beds.

‘All right, all right!’ he protested. ‘How’s our robotic friend doing? Did he wake up last night?’

‘No, doctor.’ A frown creased her perfect forehead. ‘His boiler’s not producing much steam and he doesn’t seem to be leaking oil or hydraulic fluid, so his levels haven’t decreased by much. But other than that…’ She shrugged and Hawkeye saw unease flickering in her eyes. ‘I don’t know what I’m looking for. All we’ve got to go on is how human bodies behave. Can a machine react to damage the way a person would?’

Even after working on Rabbit and on what was possibly The Spine, he didn’t have a real answer to that, so he asked,

‘Well, have you noticed anything else, anything at all?’

She shook her head. ‘Not really. He twitches a lot, but that’s it.’

‘He does?’ Hawkeye leaned on the pipe frame at the end of the robot’s cot. It creaked loudly and he hastily removed his weight from it. He gazed at the supine figure and saw the silver face plates shift in a sudden spasm. Partly, it reminded him of The Jon flinching when Frank had said they didn’t have feelings. But mostly, he just looked like a man trapped in a nightmare.

‘Well, he’s been through a lot,’ he mused. ‘If he was human, we’d be keeping him sedated anyway, so maybe rest’s what he needs right now. We’ll wait a bit longer before trying to bring him round. Continue monitoring oil and water levels.’

‘Yes, Doctor.’

_ And _ , Hawkeye added silently as he gazed at the robot’s chart, which in no way resembled a human’s,  _ that’ll give us time to figure out how the hell we  _ can _ bring him round. _

He carried on down the ward, Amir filling him in on each patient’s progress, but his mind was still on the end bed and its silent occupant. He was almost relieved when Frank showed up, because it stopped his brain running in circles like one of Radar’s pets. He knew how to deal with Frank and he felt no compunction about siphoning off his frustration into the other man, particularly as Frank’s first words when he came through the door were,

‘Is that  _ monster _ in here?’

‘No monsters here, Frank,’ said Hawk. ‘Try looking under your cot before you go to sleep tonight.’

‘Oh, very funny, Doctor Wise Guy. At least I haven’t been wasting my time operating on a  _ freak! _ ’

Hawkeye took a step closer, restraining himself with difficulty from taking hold of Frank’s lapels and shaking him.

‘You call him that again, Frank, and I’ll pull out your tongue and use it as an insole!’

Frank swallowed and his already-thin lips disappeared for a moment. But he was not to be so easily put off.

‘Pierce, you are a  _ surgeon _ . You wasted time repairing something a mechanic could have seen to, when our own  _ brave _ boys needed your help! That goes against the very principles of being a doctor!’

‘But we didn’t have any new casualties yesterday, doctor,’ Amir pointed out.

‘Who asked you?’ he snapped.

‘Major Burns, please don’t harass my nurses,’ Hot Lips said coldly as she marched into post-op.

‘Margaret!’

Frank blinked in shock, but Hawkeye could have kissed her. Hearing her brush Frank off was as good as getting a decent meal in the mess tent and just as rare.

‘Lieutenant, I’ve come to take over,’ Margaret was saying now to Amir. ‘Perhaps you could fill me in on our… newest patient.’

‘Margaret, that thing’s not a patient!’ Frank said, even more shocked now.

Hawk wondered why the major could never see the danger signs, why he couldn’t tell he was annoying someone until they exploded.

‘He’s injured, Frank. He’s in one of our beds, having been operated on by our doctors. That makes him our responsibility.’ She glanced away and her voice shook, just a fraction. ‘Besides, he’s also valuable military equipment and that makes it our duty to do what we can to make him fully operational again.’

_ Hot Lips is cleverer than I give her credit for _ , Hawk thought and grinned to himself.  _ She’s doing the right thing, even though it's uncomfortable for her.  _ Before now he had had occasion to admire Major Houlihan and once again he felt his respect for her increase. He winked at her and she glared furiously at him.

‘Yeah Frank,’ he said, unable to resist sticking his oar in once more. ‘Just think what General Clayton’ll say when he hears you helped rebuild him. You might even get a medal. Unless we have to swap it for another earring, of course.’

Frank didn’t hear the reminder of his past humiliation. Hawkeye could see him weighing up the advantages they had presented to him, could read the decision he came to in that silly smirk of his that Hawk hated so much.

‘Well,’ Frank said, having realised playing Mr Nice Guy might be lucrative and shrugging casually, ‘anything I can do to help. We gotta get this tin soldier back on the frontlines, after all.’

Hawkeye smiled through gritted teeth and was just about to send Frank packing, when the sound of a nearby explosion echoed through the hospital.

Frank and Amir screamed.

‘It’s all right!’ Hawk called. ‘It’s just the shelling’s started up again!’

He rushed to the door and peered out. He couldn’t see any smoke and it hadn’t sounded too near. Hopefully the generator wouldn’t get hit this time. It wasn't fun being plungied you into darkness while you were elbow-deep in someone’s chest.

Another shell boomed. Was it further away, or was that just wishful thinking?

Then a third hit, much nearer, and the hospital shook.

Someone screamed again. But it wasn’t Frank’s high-pitched cry or Amir’s whimper. It was a deep howl of agony, with an eerie, keening edge to it that sent Hawkeye flying back into post-op, colliding with the doors, his heart trying to force itself up his throat.

The robot had woken up.

For the second time in as many days, a terrible scream ripped through the camp and Trapper jerked upright, snapping back to consciousness so fast it was painful. His nightmare still clung to him though, and for a moment, he expected to see the terrible figure heading towards him, eyes glowing, the corpse in its arms broken and rotting. Then a shell detonated nearby. At the sound, reality snapped back into place around him and he scrambled out of bed. The fact that he had slept through the start of the shelling no longer surprised him. He just hoped it wasn’t too close to camp this time.

The scream rang out again and Trapper pushed his tired limbs into a run, bursting out of the Swamp in time to see Henry and Radar emerge from Henry’s tent, Henry’s striped robe flapping around his ankles.

They crashed through the post-op doors together and the scene they found made Trapper sprint the length of the ward.

The tall silver robot was thrashing and writhing on the end bed, flailing his arms. Hawkeye and Margaret were darting around him, trying desperately to restrain him, but they couldn’t get near enough without putting themselves within reach of the deadly, wild strikes. Even as Trapper reached them, Hawk narrowly missed a vicious blow to the stomach. He staggered backwards and Trapper caught him.

‘Thanks,’ Hawk said, breathing hard as he righted himself.

Another shell shook the dust from the ceiling and the robot’s screams redoubled. The mechanical whine in them bit deep into his ears and Trapper hissed in pain, clapping his hands to the sides of his heads.

‘What can we do?’ he yelled at Hawkeye, unsure whether the other doctor could even hear him through his own hand. ‘We gotta calm him down!’

‘I don’t know!’ Hawk’s words just about reached him. ‘It’s not like we can sedate him!’

‘It’s all right!’ they could hear Margaret yelling at the patient. ‘You’re safe!’

But what was shouting going to do except scare him more?

Vibrations rattled the bed frames as yet more explosives poured down on Korea.

The scream snapped off. Despite the ringing in his ears and the continued thunder of the artillery, to Trapper post-op was a haven of silence, for just a fragment of time.

Then new noises burst in upon them. Patients waking up, some with screams of their own. Amir’s frightened breathing. Henry ordering Radar to go and get Father Mulcahy, though what good he would do, Trapper wasn’t sure.

And then there was another sound, so quiet he could barely hear it at all, but to Trapper it cut through the whole room, his body, even his thoughts, sending quivers through every nerve.

‘Margaret, Frank, Amir, you get the other patients settled,’ he directed, pulling Margaret out of the way to get closer to the metal figure. It was a mark of how rattled the majors were that neither of them protested at a mere captain ordering them around.

Trapper pulled the stool from behind the nurse’s station and set it carefully down beside the cot, Hawk at his shoulder and Henry on the other side of the cot.

Another sob broke from the mechanical throat and rivulets of oil soaked the pillowcase, already worn thin by the weeping of a thousand soldiers.

‘Easy, buddy,’ Trapper murmured. ‘It’s all right.’

But the silver hands only clutched tighter over the face, black tears sliding out from between the fingers. A word tore itself from the black lips, in that harsh voice that grated on the ear and for a second Trapper looked at the sinister figure again, the corpse clutched in its arms.

‘…St-op…’

He shook himself. This wasn’t the time to let himself be carried away by his own horrors. The man needed him.

‘…Pleas-se…’ The robot’s entire body shook, setting the bed frame rattling against the wall.

‘It’s okay, buddy,’ Henry said. ‘You’re in hospital. You’re safe. We’re not gonna do anything you don’t want us to.’

‘…Noise…Stop…’ He was begging now, with the same, broken pleading note in his voice that he’d had when he’d asked them to help the soldier. ‘…Please…’

‘I’m afraid we can’t turn the war down,’ Hawkeye said, gently. ‘But don’t worry, they’re not firing at us. Not yet anyway,’ he added in an undertone.

‘…Never…stops…’ Could he even hear them?

Hesitantly, unsure how the patient would react, Trapper reached out a hand and laid it on the robot’s arm.

The hands snapped away from his face and fastened around Trapper’s wrist. The eyes blazed open, spilling green light across the ward.

‘Easy!’ Trapper said, holding up his other hand as Hawk and Henry tensed, ready to pull the robot off him. ‘We’re doctors. Doctors! We just wanna help you.’

Something in the neck groaned as the head swivelled and the eyes focused on him. God, those eyes. The light in them had dimmed now but they were still brilliant with pain, with an agony that went beyond the mere physical. If anything was proof that these robots were people, this pair of eyes was it. The hideous damage done to the metal chassis was nothing compared to what had been done to the soul within.

‘Make it…stop…?’ the voice croaked. The cold hands slackened on Trapper’s wrist and he took one between his own, as though trying to warm it.

Dimly, he heard Hawkeye ordering Margaret to get them some more oil, but he was still sucked in by those eyes, the mingled grief and torture that swirled, unceasing, within them.

‘We’re gonna fix you up,’ he reassured the robot, even as another shell boomed on a nearby mountain.

‘How is he?’ It was Father Mulcahy, peering down at the robot through his round glasses, his white panama hat in his hands.

‘Not good, Father,’ Henry muttered. ‘I mean, we’ve seen some troubled kids come through here, but…’ He trailed off.

‘Is it…Is  _ he _ their brother?’ Father Mulcahy swallowed. Apparently he too was remembering yesterday’s nightmarish apparition.

‘We don’t know yet.’ Hawkeye grimaced. ‘I mean, he can’t really be anyone else, but he’s not quite how they described him. And he didn’t react when Trap called him The Spine.’

‘Shall we try again now?’ Trapper asked, twisting round to look up at Hawkeye.

‘Yeah, maybe he just couldn’t hear us,’ Hawkeye said, sounding unconvinced.

Major Houlihan came over with the oil can and a glass.

‘Here you go, doctor.’ She passed them to Hawkeye, then hovered at the end of the bed, biting her lip.

‘We’ll give him some of this and hopefully he’ll at least be able to speak a bit better,’ the black-haired doctor said, holding the items up for Trapper’s inspection.

‘Right.’ Trapper nodded. ‘Then maybe we’ll get something out of him.’ He turned back to their patient, who was watching them silently, his face still slick with oil. ‘Can you sit up?’

The silver plates shifted seamlessly, drawing together a pair of thick black eyebrows. Then the robot nodded, stiffly. He pushed upwards with his free hand, his head bowing forward, and a great jet of steam blasted out of the back of his neck. His body shook violently, then flopped back down again. He panted with the effort, sending out little clouds of steam that fogged the priest’s glasses.

‘Father, can you help me sit him up?’ Henry asked. ‘Trapper, keep talking to him.’

‘You’re okay,’ Trapper began, patting the hand still in his. ‘These guys are gonna help you sit up. Then we’re gonna give you some oil, so your joints aren’t so stiff.’

The robot’s eyes darted from side to side, watching as Henry and Father Mulcahy approached him slowly from opposite directions and reached out. He tried to shrink away.

‘It’s all right,’ Trapper continued, bringing the robot’s focus back to him. ‘They’re not gonna hurt you.’

But it wasn’t an easy job. As Rabbit had been, the robot was bulky and his metal plates were slippery and it was very awkward to heave him upright in the small space they had to work with. Trapper wanted to lend Henry and the priest a hand, but knew the best way he could help would be to keep the patient calm. So he stroked the fingers that clutched reflexively at his own and carried on talking.

‘That’s good, that’s good. See? Nothing to worry about, is there?’

‘Thanks Father,’ Hawkeye said to the priest as he finally let go.

Father Mulcahy wiped his brow on his sleeve, his glasses completely misted over.

‘That’s quite all right. Anyway I can help.’

‘Right.’ Hawkeye swapped places with Father Mulcahy and crouched down next to Trapper. ‘Here you go. We’ve got you some oil.’ He held the glass to the robot’s black lips.

Trapper felt the hand pull away and he let it go. The robot’s fingers closed gently around the glass and tilted it up. The edge of the glass rattled against his plates as his hands shook, but he didn’t spill any. Trapper sighed in relief. No human could have drunk by themselves this soon after major surgery. Hopefully this was a good sign.

‘Good. That’s real good,’ he said.

Hawk’s mouth twitched into a smile.

‘Best thing I’ve seen in a while,’ he said. ‘I’m Doctor Pierce, by the way. This is Doctor MacIntyre. But feel free to call us ‘Hawkeye’ and ‘Trapper’.’

‘What should we call you?’ Trapper asked.

The robot turned his green eyes on him, but did not reply.

‘Are you The Spine?’ Henry tried. ‘We had your brothers through here a few days ago. They’ve been worried sick about you.’

The silent patient titled his head to the side and frowned. He took another gulp of oil, but said nothing.

Then something whistled overhead and the explosion that followed shook the whole building, setting all the lights flickering. There was a squawk from the other end of the ward as someone fell over.

The robot flinched and whimpered at the sound, pressing his hands into the bed as though he could hold back the gunfire.

‘Damn artillery!’ Henry swore. ‘What do they think they’re playing at? Rad­—’

‘Yes, sir?’

‘Damn it, Radar!’ Henry cursed again as everyone round the bed jumped. ‘How many times have I told you not to come until I’ve finished calling you? Get on the horn and—’

‘—see if I can get someone to take the heat off us. Yes sir.’

‘—see if you can get someone to take the heat off us, would you?’

Radar had trundled off before Henry hads even finished giving him the order. Trapper wondered vaguely why Henry bothered vocalising the orders at all. Perhaps it was simply to stave off the madness that might come with accepting that their company clerk could read minds.

The robot moaned and Trapper tensed, expecting him to start screaming and thrashing again. But instead, large droplets of oil started leaking from his eyes again and he whispered,

‘That noise. It never stops…’ The oil had smoothed some of the roughness from his voice, but it was still agony to hear so much pain in it.

‘Sure it does,’ Henry said, looking nervously at the other doctors. ‘They’ll stop the shelling soon. You’ll see.’

‘No…’ the robot said, still more quietly. ‘It never stops. Always hear it. Even when the guns stop.’

‘You mean, inside your head?’ Hawkeye asked, softly.

The robot nodded, staring into the distance as though he could see through the hospital, through the mountains, to the artillery itself.

The doctors exchanged glances.

‘Should we get Major Friedman up here?’ Margaret asked. ‘This sounds like severe battle fatigue and he’s had a lot of success with that.’

Trapper turned to stare at her.

‘If you’re not careful,’ he said, grinning, ‘we might start actually liking you, Major.’

‘I doubt that,’ she said flatly, returning a sardonic smile.

‘Do you think Sidney will be able to help?’ Father Mulcahy wondered. ‘Rabbit and The Jon, and this fellow too, are far more human than they appear, but we don’t know whether their minds work in quite the same way. Will he respond to psychiatric treatment?’

Hawkeye shrugged.

‘Only one way to find out,’ he said. ‘Even if Sidney can’t help him straight away, he might be able to do  _ something _ .’

‘What?’ whined a voice from behind them. Frank had finally plucked up the courage to return to their end of the ward and was hovering behind the knot of staff. ‘You’re really going to call a psychiatrist in for  _ that? _ ’ He pointed a quivering finger at the robot.

‘What, you have a problem with that, Frank?’ Hawkeye raised his eyebrows. ‘I thought you thought psychiatry was a load of baloney?’

‘It is!’

Another shell crashed in the distance and the robot flinched.

‘Then why do you care if we call in Major Friedman?’ Margaret asked, without turning her head to look at him. Her tone alone lowered the temperature of the hospital by at least ten degrees.

‘Margaret,’ Frank said, reproachfully, ‘we can’t waste the army’s resources like that. Not on some psycho machine!’

‘Frank,’ Henry began, putting his hands on his hips, ‘in case you hadn’t noticed, this guy  _ is _ one of the army’s resources. Just like the rest of us.’

Trapper glanced back at the robot, remembering the paint that Hawkeye had uncovered. No doubt it was some narrow-minded idiot like Frank who had put it on him.

The robot’s eyes had been fixed on Frank, but just for a second, they flicked back to Trapper. Naked fear burned in them and the hand still holding the glass of oil trembled.

‘It’s okay,’ Trapper mouthed. It wasn’t, of course. But there was nothing else he could do at the moment to ease that fear.

‘It’s bad enough when  _ humans _ try to pull that battle fatigue nonsense!’ Frank was spitting. ‘Let alone a  _ robot _ . Call a mechanic in. We’ve got quite enough on our plate dealing with actual people. We should ship it back to the front lines as soon as possible, so it can get on with killing those Commies. We should not be giving it a bed and sitting round it like this. What are you going to do next? Read it a bedtime story?’

Hawkeye started towards Frank, but Father Mulcahy held him back.

‘Let me at him, Father,’ Hawkeye said, glaring at Frank who had taken a step back in alarm. ‘I’ll dissect him. It’ll be instructive. The only living example of a man born with his brains in his—’

‘Hawk!’ Trapper shot to his feet, pressing a hand on his friend’s chest. ‘Don’t. He ain’t worth it.’ He glared at Frank too. ‘We’ll get him for it later.’ When Hawk didn’t move, he pushed harder. ‘Come on, would you? We’ve got a patient here!’

That brought him to his senses, as Trapper had known it would.

‘All right,’ he muttered, turning away. There was yet another explosion in the distance.

‘Goodbye, Major Burns,’ Margaret said. If her tone had been cold before, this one had icicles on it.

‘But Margaret, I—’

‘Doctor, you are not on duty. You are not required here.’ Then, with a flash of vindictiveness that made Trapper smirk, she added, ‘If you’re afraid of the robot, you can always go and hide in the latrine, like you did yesterday, while MacIntyre and Pierce spoke to him.’

Frank's mouth dropped open and he stared at Margaret. For a moment, something like doubt flickered across his face. But then it disappeared as Frank slouched away, clearly unable to handle Margaret’s categoric rejection.

‘I shall include him in prayers tonight,’ Father Mulcahy said, watching Frank’s white coat vanish out of the door with genuine concern on his face.

‘Father, how can you pray for a guy like that?’ Trapper asked, shaking his head at the priest’s benevolence.

‘Well, it is my duty to show compassion,’ Father Mulcahy said. Then he smiled. ‘Besides, divine intervention is probably the only thing that will improve him.’

Everyone around the bed chuckled.

Trapper looked back down at the robot and the mirth died in his throat. His green eyes were still full of fear, but now they were fixed straight ahead and his silver face plates twitched, like he was reliving some terrible experience.

‘Hey, it’s all right,’ Trapper said, sitting back down next to him. ‘He’s gone. We’re gonna fix you up. No one’s gonna hurt you. We’ll make sure of that.’

The next shell sent tremors through the hospital and shook dust from the ceiling.

The robot whimpered and the glass of oil slipped from his hand. Thick black fluid drenched both him and the bedding and the glass shattered on the floor.

‘Don’t worry about it!’ Trapper said, seeing the robot’s head snap round and his eyes film over with oil. ‘We can clean this up.’

But the metal man wasn’t listening. He began muttering something under his breath, his eyes sliding away from the mess on the bed. As the others began fussing over the oil and picking up the broken glass, Trapper leaned forward, trying to hear what he was saying. When he made out the words, dread raked iron fingers down his back.

‘ _ No one’ll hurt me, what about them? Who’ll protect them from me? So many dead, all those people I hurt, killed, noise never stops, it never ever stops. Gunfire, screams, my fault, all my fault. So many dead.  _ I  _ killed them. Please stop the noise, stop it, let  _ me  _ stop. Please let me stop killing! _ ’

‘You don’t have to,’ he said, sweat starting on his brow. ‘No one’s gonna make you do anything, okay?’ He reached out and gently touched the robot’s hand again.

The automaton flinched, then his glassy eyes turned to gaze in Trapper’s direction. Trapper patted the hand and the eyes refocused, actually  _ seeing _ him once more.

‘That’s it, that’s it,’ Trapper murmured, ignoring the slimy feeling of the oil under his fingers and the smell that now rose from the bedding, so strong it burned his nasal passages. None of that mattered. He had to keep the robot calm. For his own sake, of course, but if he really couldn’t stop killing…

_ No! Don’t even think that! Just keep him calm. _

So he did, stroking the robot’s hand, talking to him, telling him all about his wife and kids, about Klinger and his dresses, about life at MASH, anything to keep him focused, keep him calm, while Hawk picked up the broken glass and Margaret changed the sheets and Father Mulcahy fetched some white spirits so he and Henry could clean the oil from the robot’s chassis.

By the time everything was clean again, the shelling had stopped. Margaret bustled off to check on the other patients and Hawkeye crouched down beside the bed again.

‘You see?’ he said. ‘Nothing bad happened just because you dropped a glass. Now, are you The Spine?’

The robot’s face plates shifted, pulling his thick brows into a frown again.

‘The spine?’ he asked, his deep voice even mellower now the oil was working through his system.

Trapper’s stomach lurched.

‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘We got a couple of other robots through here the other day. Rabbit and The Jon. They were looking for their brother, The Spine.’ He scrutinised the robot’s face, but there was no flicker of recognition there.

‘So what is your name?’ Father Mulcahy smiled encouragingly.

The robot opened his mouth.

‘Lieutenant—’ and stopped dead. His eyes widened, his brow creased and then his chest hitched upwards as he dragged in panicked breaths. Then oil spilled down his cheeks again.

‘…I can’t remember,’ he sobbed, his hands closing around his face as though to protect it. ‘Lieutenant— Lieutenant—’

But it was no good. Trapper watched, at a loss to know how to fill the chasm the war had carved into the robot’s mind. The army had taken everything from this man, his service, his body, even his identity, until there was nothing left but fear and guilt and a military rank.


	8. Reflections

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm on holiday next week, so there won't be an update. Sorry. Although it is a slight relief for me because it gives me more time to write the next chapter.

Frank laid back on his cot and stared at the dull, grey canvas above him, listening to the distant shell fire. Normally he would have jumped at the chance of a few moments alone without those two degenerate roommates of his, but he couldn’t relax, couldn’t enjoy it.

Not with Margaret’s cruel words still ringing in his ears.

_You can always go and hide in the latrine, like you did yesterday._

She thought he was a coward! Him! Just because he’d been sensible and got inside when that horrific, terrible _freak_ had come towards them. It hadn’t been his fault he’d run the wrong way and ended up in the latrine. And Margaret had backed away too, hadn’t she? He hadn’t seen _her_ out there, risking her lovely neck.

It wasn’t his fault if Pierce and MacIntyre were always such show-offs. If they wanted to go and get themselves killed by that, that _machine_ , that was just fine by him. They were always like that, always showing off and then getting lucky and looking like heroes. What about the wonderful guys that didn’t push themselves forward, didn’t rush stupidly into danger, guys like him? They never got any of the glory.

Of course, Margaret was always a sucker for a hero and apparently that extended to Pierce and MacIntyre, even though she usually hated them. And all the while, she was being so cold, so distant. Not having her around, not being able to comfort each other after the day’s slog through surgery was over, had been torture these last few days.

Damn it, it just wasn’t fair!

Frank flipped onto his stomach and drummed his arms and legs on the cot, screwing his face up and indulging in a fantastic tantrum.

When at last he’d calmed down, he lay with his face buried in his flat, hard pillow. A thought came to him, sneaking up from some hidden depth of his brain.

Was Margaret right? Was he really a coward?

He snorted into the grey cotton. Of course not! That was ridiculous! He simply didn’t like pain and what was wrong with that?

But memory, the treacherous little beast, reminded him that this was hardly the first time that such accusations had been levelled at him. There had been the sniper attack and that time the Chinese POW got loose in the OR, he hadn’t exactly rushed forward to help.

That machine, though, even though it was badly damaged, had carried a soldier all the way here for treatment. It was surely just obeying its orders, although the others, even Margaret, seemed to think it was a hero. A machine was a hero, but he wasn’t. When he next swallowed, it tasted bitter.

There had to be a way for him to get back in Margaret’s good books. He’d always managed to before, after all.

He turned over onto his side and imagined an emergency in the compound. The robot had run riot. It was Pierce and MacIntyre’s fault, of course. And he dashed in and pulled Margaret out of the way just as the brute was about to hit her. Yes…

Slowly, he drifted off to sleep on the narrow cot, undisturbed by the continued shelling, trying to stave off loneliness with dreams of Margaret.

The shelling had stopped, but the noise in the robot’s head thundered on. Would it ever stop? Gunfire and screams rattling through his mind, making it impossible to think. His body hurt too, a thousand points of agony sparking every time he moved, but he ignored them. They weren’t important.

_What was his name?_

He stared up at the corrugated ceiling of the hospital, as though the answer to the question that now obsessed him was written there.

‘Lieutenant…’ he muttered for the hundredth time, straining to reach beyond that word, to drag up some kind of clue as to who he was. ‘Lieutenant—’

All that came to him was the memories of the last week. Streaks of blue eviscerating the night, guns exploding at their touch. Bullets flying through the forest and screams echoing back. A face in his, threatening, promising pain. He knew that face.

‘Stephens…’ He said it without thinking.

‘I’m sorry?’

He flinched, leaning instinctively away from the nurse as she bent over his bed.

‘It’s all right,’ she said, holding out a reassuring hand. ‘Did you say “Stephens”? Is that your name? Lieutenant Stephens?’

‘No…’ he muttered, unable to meet her blue eyes. ‘Stephens is…’

_Face thrust in his. Round and flabby. Mean eyes._

_Thunder of the shells and the camp erupting in fire. Broken bodies everywhere, the remains of his unit._

_One man still alive. Only one and only just._

_Stephens. Fear. Anger._

_Save him._

‘He’s the man I brought in!’ He tore himself out of the memory. He had to find out how Stephens was, whether he was alive. ‘How is he?’ His voice grated in his throat, still hoarse, but no matter. It was worth it, the pain was worth it, as long as he hadn’t been too late. As long as he hadn’t let yet another man die.

A crease appeared in the nurse’s forehead, sympathy and worry in her face in equal measure.

He read the answer in her eyes as she opened her mouth.

‘I’m sorry, but he didn’t make it,’ she said gently. ‘We did everything we could, but his injuries were just too extensive.’

‘No…’ he whispered. It couldn’t be true, it _couldn’t be_. That endless, black agony that had nearly sucked him under, that was still tugging at him even now. Shuffling through the mud, foot twisting beneath him, fragile connections splintering under the weight of the man he had held. Bullets burrowing between his plates as he tried to fetch help. All for nothing. The one person he thought he could save.

Dead.

Because of him.

Hands stiff and shaking, he covered his ears, ignoring the sting of loose wires, trying to block out the gunfire and the screaming that grew louder and louder.

‘Please, no…stop…’ He wasn’t even sure who he was talking to, or what he wanted them to stop doing.

Stop screaming? If he wanted that, he shouldn’t have killed them.

The noise rolled inside his head, boiling over with fear and pain and his hands did nothing to quiet it.

Stephens.

Ortiz.

Corporal Wright.

The Captain.

Toby King.

And who knew how many Korean and Chinese soldiers. A hundred? A thousand? More?

Guerrillas, fighting for their home. Civilians, fighting to get away.

Dead. All dead. Because of _him_. He’d killed them, killed them all.

A hand touched his shoulder and his fist shot out.

 _No!_ He remembered the nurse just in time to stop the blow connecting. He dragged his hand back, fighting the instincts that the endless war had programmed into him.

‘Doctor!’ he heard her cry.

Doctor couldn’t help. Couldn’t bring back the dead. Couldn’t stop it, stop the killing. Couldn’t stop _him_ killing.

The guns in his head fired again. Or were they footsteps?

‘What happened?’ he heard another voice say. He had killed another human, another _person_ , that was what had happened. Killed Stephens because he’d been too slow.

‘He asked about the… the soldier he brought in,’ the nurse said. ‘I explained that he… didn’t make it. He got so upset. I tried to touch him and he—’

Shame twisted in his core and he looked away, clutching the blanket in his shaking fingers. She had been trying to help and he had nearly killed her too. Would he ever stop? Would he kill everyone until there was no one left?

‘All right. I’ll take care of it, you check on Watkins for me.’ More footsteps moved away, the hard rap of army boots on the floor.

He felt someone lean over him and opened eyes he hadn’t realised he’d closed.

It was one of the doctors. He recognised him from a few hours ago, from the first time he’d woken up. Black hair and blue eyes, long nose. Concerned expression. Sympathetic.

‘How’re you feeling?’ the doctor asked.

He gazed up at him, opened his mouth and shut it again. He burned to let out the poison festering inside him, but what could he say? No one would listen. No one ever listened. He turned his gaze back to the corrugated roof.

‘I’m sorry about your buddy,’ the man went on. ‘I really am.’

He had to speak, _had_ to, because the screams were still there, nearly deafening now and maybe if he spoke, they would be quiet. Doctor wouldn’t care. He looked after _people_ , not broken robots. But maybe there was a chance he would, a tiny chance.

‘My fault,’ he whispered and turned his eyes back towards the doctor, willing the face above him to understand. ‘My fault. Should’ve got here sooner.’

For a moment, the blue eyes closed and the sympathy in the face grew, lines of pain etching themselves into his pale skin.

Then the face disappeared for a moment and there was a dragging sound. He shuffled stiffly round, plates dragging painfully against each other, so that he could see the man properly as he sat down beside the bed.

‘Believe me when I say I understand,’ the doctor said. Echoes of his own anguish in that weary voice.

He did. Did believe in the grief that was suddenly exposed in that face.

‘I had to operate on one of my best friends,’ the doctor went on in an undertone, looking down at his hands, ‘but I couldn’t save him.’

Grief looked back at him, like he was staring into a mirror. Almost without realising, he put out a hand and placed it over the human’s. For a moment, their eyes locked. Then he looked quickly away, returning his gaze to the ceiling. Humans didn’t like being stared at by a machine.

‘But,’ the doctor went on, now smiling sadly, ‘it wasn’t my fault and it took me months to accept that. He was just hurt too bad. Even if I’d got to him as soon as it happened, I couldn’t have saved him. Of course, if I wasn’t so arrogant, I might have accepted the blow to my pride a bit sooner.’ He grinned and winked, the grief vanishing behind the bedside manner.

The robot felt the corner of his mouth pull back, in a way that hadn’t happened in… How long had it been? Months? Years? How long had it been since General Murdock had come to the house?

_House?_

‘What house?’ asked the doctor, softly.

He twitched, staring at the man before realising he had voiced his confusion aloud.

‘…I don’t know, sir,’ he admitted. ‘Can’t remember.’

‘Can you remember anything about yourself?’

He tried to shrug. His responses were slow and clumsy and the pipe frame of the bed creaked, rattling against the metal walls. At least the screaming in his head was muffled now.

‘I’m a Lieutenant in the United States Army. I’m in Korea. And… I’m a robot, sir.’

‘That’s it?’ asked the doctor, sadly. He placed his own hand on top of the robot’s, which twitched at the unexpected contact.

‘Yes. I’m sorry, sir.’

Lines reappeared in the doctor’s face as he frowned.

‘Don’t apologise,’ he said, sounding alarmed. ‘What, you asked to lose your memory?’

His mouth twitched again. ‘No, sir.’ Of course he hadn’t. But it wasn’t a good idea to disappoint the officers.

‘And don’t bother with the ‘sir’,’ the doctor continued. ‘You can just call me Hawkeye.’

‘Hawkeye…’ It was a strange name.

‘Yeah, that’s right.’ The doctor shifted, readjusting himself on the little stool. ‘Now, do you remember we asked if you were The Spine?’

He nodded, frowning himself now.

‘Why did you ask me that, sir? Hawkeye?’ he corrected, wincing at his error. His face plates were still stiff and the frown took a moment longer to smooth out than it should have done.

‘We’re looking for a robot named The Spine,’ Hawkeye said calmly. ‘His brothers were in camp a few days ago. They miss him.’ Those blue eyes suddenly fixed on him, sharp and intense. ‘They need him.’

‘Brothers?’ Another robot? With brothers? A family?

‘Yeah. They’re called Rabbit and The Jon. Those names mean anything to you?’ Still the eyes were fixed on him, as though waiting for him to react and for a moment, he wanted to. Something flitted through his mind and his core pulsed erratically, sending warmth through his chassis. A fresh burst of pain came with it, as broken systems tried to connect.

‘I—’

But the feeling vanished as suddenly as it had come and the gulf it left behind it was somehow even emptier than before.

‘No.’ He shook his head, staring at the grey blanket they had covered him with and wondering why oil was welling up around his eyes. ‘I don’t think I know them, sir.’

‘Huh.’ Hawkeye scratched at his dark stubble. ‘The robot they described was kinda like you, you know. Tall, made of steel, powered by steam.’

It _did_ sound like him. Almost. Except…

‘I’m titanium, sir,’ he said. ‘Some of my plates are steel, but my—’

No! That was secret! No one was supposed to know! Only General Murdock and the Captain and the people who had done the work knew about his upgrades.

He swallowed as thick oil caught in his throat, almost choking him. If he let something slip and the army found out, something bad would happen, something _very_ bad, and he couldn’t let it happen, had to protect… someone?

‘The rest of me is titanium,’ he finished, aware of Hawkeye’s curious gaze.

 _I can’t be this, this_ Spine, _can I?_ he thought. If he was, then why couldn’t he remember anything?

He strained to reach past his memories of the army, to find something else, a warm voice, a friendly face.

But the only friendly face had been Toby’s. Toby King. Poor Toby King. Gone now. Dead. His fault. Just like Stephens.

The oil finally slipped from his eyes to course down his face plates and spatter the blanket, blurring his vision.

Explosions. Gunfire. His electricity crackling out into the night. Cries of agony, pain _he_ had caused, filling his head. The doctor’s mouth moved, but he couldn’t hear him anymore. It was like someone had turned up the radio and all he could hear was death.

There was nothing else. _He_ was nothing else.

‘That’s all I am,’ he sobbed, hands twitching and shaking like electrocuted spiders. ‘The war. I _am_ the war…’

‘Sidney?’ Henry Blake looked up at Pierce and MacIntyre and tried to stifle a yawn. Every time they set foot in his office, it meant trouble for someone and it was usually him. And Radar. ‘You really think he can help? I mean, his speciality’s humans. Or at least, whatever passes for human round here.’

‘I don’t think we’ve got another option,’ Pierce said, putting his hands on Henry’s desk and leaning over. ‘We can’t ship him out in the state he’s in and I think the only one who’ll be able to tell us how to fix his body is him. But I don’t think he’s stable enough for that yet.’

‘Besides,’ MacIntyre put in, ‘who else is gonna take care of him? We send him to the 25th Evac, all they’ll do is get some slob from the motor pool to slap a couple of steel plates over the cracks and send him back out to the front line. Then two weeks later the repairs give out. Or his mind does,’ he added darkly.

‘Okay!’ Henry threw up his hands. He hadn’t been suggesting they kick the poor wretch out, he just wasn’t sure how much use Major Freedman would be. ‘Okay, call Sidney and get him over here as soon as possible.’ He rubbed a hand across his face. He hadn’t had enough sleep to deal with this. ‘And if Burns gives you any static, send him to me and I’ll kick his butt all the way across camp.’

‘Henry!’ MacIntyre beamed. ‘You’re being decisive!’

‘Guess it had to happen eventually,’ Pierce said, smirking.

Henry shrugged. ‘Guess I’m just sick of watching guys leave here with their bodies sewn up and their brains still full of holes.’ He leaned back in his seat and eyed his two officers with their three-day beards and their rumpled clothing, knowing he looked just as unkempt and not caring in the slightest. ‘Do you really think we can do anything to help this guy?’

Pierce sighed. ‘Maybe. I’ll guess we’ll see when Sidney gets here.’

‘We should get Rabbit and The Jon back here, too,’ MacIntyre suggested. ‘If he sees them, he might remember. And they’ll be able to tell us if he really is The Spine.’

‘Right,’ Henry agreed. ‘I just hope he is or they’re gonna be very disappointed. Radar!’

‘Yes, sir?’

Even though he had been expecting it, Henry still jumped when his clerk spoke from just beside his left ear.

‘Damn it, Radar,’ he muttered, rubbing his heart. ‘One day you’re gonna give me a heart attack and they’ll court martial you for killing a superior officer!’ He jabbed a finger in his corporal’s direction, then tried to remember what he had called Radar in for in the first place.

‘Radar, get hold of Sidney for us,’ Pierce said, seating himself on the edge of Henry’s desk. ‘Get him over here as soon as possible. Tell him we’ve got a really bad battle fatigue case here and no one else can help.’

‘You mean the robot, sir?’ Radar’s face creased behind his grubby glasses.

‘Yeah, but don’t tell him that. Just tell him there’s a soldier here who needs him real bad.’

‘Then call the 38th Infantry,’ Trapper said, picking up the Japanese doll that lived on Henry’s desk and gesturing with it, oblivious to Henry’s wince, ‘and get Rabbit and The Jon here as soon as possible too.’

‘—as soon as possible too…’ Radar muttered, slightly ahead of Trapper, and noted it down on his clipboard. ‘Right away, sir!’ He straightened up, vibrating with earnest goodwill, and hurried out of Henry’s office as fast as his short legs could take him.

‘Coming for a drink, Henry?’ Hawkeye asked, with the self-satisfied smirk he wore whenever he got his own way.

‘Sorry, boys,’ Henry said, standing up and readjusting his fishing vest. ‘I’ve still got a few things to do. Maybe later.’

‘Wow,’ Trapper said, arching his eyebrows and grinning crookedly. ‘You’re really turning into a leader, Henry. Keep this up and we might actually start relying on you.’

‘I hope not,’ Henry grunted, ignoring the genuine praise in Trapper’s words, however much it warmed him. ‘I can’t think of anything worse than you two coming to me about your problems instead of solving them yourselves like you usually do.’

The two captains grinned and sloped out, leaving the office doors swinging behind them.

Henry stretched, trying to ease a stiff muscle in his back, then he too left the office.

He passed Radar at his desk but didn’t hang around to see how far the corporal had got in his attempts to get hold of Sidney and the robots. It was best just to let him get on with these things, Henry had learned. A good kid, that one.

Instead, he turned left and went through the hospital to post-op. The shift had changed and, as he knew because he had written the duty roster, Leslie was there, writing on a patient’s clipboard.

Henry checked to see that Frank, the doctor on duty, was up the other end of the ward and looking the other way, before he sidled up to Leslie and muttered,

‘I managed to get the worms for tonight, along with some rice crackers.’

Leslie glanced over her shoulder at Burns and then her small, round face lit up.

‘And we’ll have a midnight picnic, like you promised?’ she whispered.

‘Yep.’ Henry grinned back, feeling twenty years and a lot of good dinners fall away in the face of her smile. ‘And we can try out that new reel I ordered, see if it’s any good.’

Leslie was about to reply, when Frank called,

‘Lieutenant Scorch.’

She grimaced and hurried down the length of the ward, leaving Henry looking after her, dreaming about the coming night, the dark river, the fish biting and the scent of Leslie’s hair.

Henry bounced on his toes for a moment, then glanced around at the patients. The robot lay to his left, asleep, or whatever it was that robots did. His face twitched and so did his hands, on top of the rough blanket someone had laid over him. Sleep sometimes brought relief for their patients, but not this one, it seemed.

Henry shuffled closer. He sidled around the bed and perched on the stool between the robot and a sandy-haired kid named Jones who was also unconscious. He gazed down at the robot. Was he dreaming? Having a nightmare?

On an impulse, he reached out and patted the long, slender fingers. They twitched again as he touched them. The robot sighed in his sleep and hot steam blew across his face. Henry coughed and waved it away with his free hand. Then he sighed too.

His dreams last night had been full of that nightmarish figure with its grisly, rotting burden. Again and again, Henry had jerked out of sleep, sweat pooled on his chest, looking wildly around for the machine.

But today he had watched the robot sob as if everyone he had ever cared about had been torn away from him. Which, he reflected, if the guy really was The Spine, they had.

‘Hell,’ he muttered to the sleeping robot, quietly enough that he wouldn’t wake him, ‘I think I’d go stir-crazy if I lost Lorraine and the kids. Probably try to walk all the way back to Bloomington, Illinois stark naked.’ He grinned to himself, then sighed. ‘But you still kept doing your job. Kept trying to save people. You’re a machine, but I think you must be a better human than most of the people in the army. Maybe in the whole goddamn world.’

He got up to leave and let go of the metal fingers, which had warmed beneath his touch. He shoved his hands in the pockets of his vest and felt something in one of them. He pulled it out and stared down at the rolled-up fishing magazine.

‘I’ll leave this here for you,’ he said after a moment and set it down on the little table by the cot. ‘Don’t know if you like fishing, but it’ll probably be nice to have something to read.’

Henry stared at the silver man for a moment longer, then walked off down the ward, nodding at Leslie as he passed. He would head to the Swamp and take Trapper up on that offer of a drink. He needed to shake off some of the gloom that had settled over him at the robot’s bedside. _But_ , he thought, as he crossed the compound, _I think I’ll be able to sleep again tonight._

The static crackled and died and Radar dropped the headset with a whoop of joy. He glanced quickly around to make sure his office was really empty, then darted to his cot, pulled his teddy bear from under his pillow and danced around the room with it. He did a fancy turn and dipped the bear, then wobbled, overbalanced and crashed to the floor.

‘Ow,’ he muttered, his nose buried in his toy’s fur and his glasses pushed up his forehead. He hauled himself up again, rubbing the knee and elbow he had bashed. ‘Sorry,’ he said to the teddy and scratched his head. ‘I’m just happy, you know? Something’s finally going right for a change. I’d better go and tell Hawkeye and Trapper.’ He tucked the bear back behind his pillow, where no one could see or take him, then picked up his clipboard and dashed out of the door.

He careered round the corner and ran straight into Klinger, hitting his sore knee on the man’s rifle.

‘Hey, watch it,’ Klinger said, staggering backwards on his grubby heels, ‘I just finished this dress. And the silk cost me a fortune.’

Radar looked at the dress and his eyebrows shot up towards his woolly cap.

‘Woah…’ he said, eyes wide.

The dress was a mass of cream silk, rows and rows of rounded loops layered on top of each other like enormous, soft roof tiles. The skirt stuck out a good foot and a half from Klinger’s legs and the low neckline of the bodice showed off his flat, hairy chest.

Klinger grinned at the awestruck look on Radar’s face.

‘It’s good, huh?’ he said.

‘Did you really make that?’ Radar asked.

‘Yeah,’ Klinger said, still grinning. ‘Took me three months but I’ve finally got it done. Think I’ll wear it to the movie later. As long as it doesn’t start raining. If this gets wet, it’ll get covered in water stains…’

Radar nodded, then remembered his errand. He muttered a quick apology to Klinger and bolted off again. He reached the door of the Swamp, wrenched it open and hurtled through it, nearly colliding with the stove because he didn’t stop in time.

‘Hi Radar,’ Trapper said, unconcerned, pouring himself a martini at the still.

‘I hope you haven’t brought something for me to sign, Radar,’ the Colonel warned from where he sat slumped in Hawkeye’s chair.

Radar shook his head and took a deep breath.

‘It’s not more wounded, is it?’ Hawkeye asked, raising himself off his pillow to glare at Radar. ‘If it is, you can tell MacArthur I’m going on strike.’

‘No!’ Radar said, scowling. They were ruining his big moment!

‘Then what is it?’ Trapper asked, leaning against the still. ‘You look like you’ve been chased through camp by the North Koreans.’

‘Maybe he’s in training,’ Hawk suggested, ‘so that when he does have to run away, his height won’t put him at a disadvantage.’

‘Will you guys shut up?’ Radar snapped.

Both doctors fell silent, looking taken aback. It wasn’t often Radar had the courage to speak to them like that.

He took a deep breath again and said,

‘I’ve got good news.’ He had been going to tell them the best bit right off, but they’d spoiled it by making fun of his height. Again. So now they could wait for it. ‘Major Freedman’s coming over. He’ll be here in two days.’

‘That _is_ good news,’ Hawkeye agreed. ‘Here’s to Sidney.’ All three of them drank.

‘That doesn’t explain why you ran, though, Radar,’ Trapper pointed out, eyeing him.

‘Well…’ Oh, this felt good. Radar stuck his hand in his pocket and tried to look casual. He considered leaning nonchal— nochnal— _casually_ on the chimney stove but didn’t think it would take his weight.

‘What? What?’ Hawkeye sat bolt upright and stared at him too. Even Colonel Blake looked interested.

Radar couldn’t stop himself grinning. His chest swelled and it felt like he was about to burst the seams of his shirt with happiness and pride.

‘Come on,’ Trapper barked. ‘Tell us! Or I’ll set Hawkeye on you!’

He couldn’t keep it in another moment.

‘Rabbit and The Jon are coming back!’


	9. Enter Sidney

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry this is a week later than I intended. My holiday was brilliant, but I had far less time to write than I thought I would. From now on, I'll try to update every two weeks.  
> Thanks for sticking with this and giving me such wonderful feedback, guys. It really means a lot to me.
> 
> P.S. I have very little knowledge of psychiatry, especially period psychiatry. I'm basing this off of MASH, ten minutes of internet research and a lot of other trauma-based fan fic. You have been warned.

‘Rabbit!’ The cry echoed around the camp of the 38th Infantry and Rabbit flinched instinctively. The opposing army might have pulled back, but there might still be guerrillas out there and noise only attracted attention. Besides, nobody in Korea usually wanted him for anything good.

Unable to stop himself, he glanced around the narrow valley the 38th was temporarily camped in, double-checking that there wasn’t anyone lurking behind the scruffy bushes and the lowering rocks. He was so busy scanning the hillside that he almost walked into a young private.

‘Get out of the way!’ the private grunted in annoyance, shouldering into him. Then he grunted in pain. Human bones weren’t built to shove aside heavy copper robots.

Rabbit dodged around him and hurried across the road to where Colonel Macy’s short, stocky form was filling the door to his tent.

‘Yes, sir?’ he asked. The colonel had only spoken to him once, so far, when he and The Jon had first arrived. What did he want him for now?

‘There’s a call for you,’ the colonel said, in his Southern drawl. ‘You’d better come inside and take it.’

Rabbit frowned. The colonel’s voice and the frown on his tanned face said something was wrong. Was it…?

‘Well, come on,’ Colonel Macy said, not unkindly. ‘They’re waiting on the line for ya.’ He stepped aside and Rabbit slid past him into the front section of the tent, that doubled as the 38th’s office. As he did so, Colonel Macy put a large, leathery hand on Rabbit’s shoulder.

Rabbit stiffened, but Macy said,

‘If you boys need some time, I can give you a couple a’ days. No more than that, though.’ Then he strode off across the camp, leaving Rabbit wondering why he and The Jon might need a couple of days. And why the colonel was being so nice to a robot. No one else in this camp was more than distantly polite, if that.

His core pulsed erratically, sending nervous energy flooding through all his circuits. He stepped further into the dingy tent, that was exactly the same faded khaki as every other piece of army kit in Korea, and slid behind the desk. He pulled the receiver out of its leather bag and held it to his ear, his hand shaking.

‘H-h-hel-lo?’ he asked, glitching even more than usual.

‘Rabbit?’ came an excited voice, squealing through the static. ‘Is that you? This is Radar, 4077th MASH!’

‘R-Radar?’ His oil froze in its conduits. The colonel’s expression, his offer of a few days and Radar on the phone could only mean—

‘Listen, we got someone here you need to see!’ Radar gabbled, before Rabbit could ask if his suspicions were correct.

Rabbit’s left optic flickered off and on again and the plates around it twitched, grating against each other.

‘The-the-the Sp-Spine?’ he stammered, clutching the phone, barely able to get the words out.

The line was quiet for a moment and wordless horrors bubbled up from somewhere inside him.

‘Radar?’ he whispered, as fear closed around him and the gloom of the tent seemed to grow even darker.

‘Well…’ came the voice from the other end of the line, ‘we’re not sure…’

‘Not s-sure? What does that mean?’ Rabbit’s fingers convulsed and the plastic squeaked in his grip.

‘This… this guy turned up in camp yesterday,’ Radar began, his voice trembling. ‘He was a robot. He, he was kinda like how you described The Spine to us, except…’

‘Except?’ Rabbit really didn’t want to hear the answer, but he _had_ to know if his brother was okay.

‘Well, he’s kinda different. He doesn’t have smokestacks up his back, like you said The Spine did, and parts of him are… titinium? Tatanium? Not steel, anyways.’

‘Didn’t you a-a-ask him?’ Rabbit snapped, frustration getting the better of him.

‘Well, that’s the other problem,’ said Radar’s voice, reluctantly. Then the rest came pouring down the phoneline in a flood. ‘See, he was hurt real bad, and the docs did the best they could but we don’t know how to fix him properly and we need you to see if he really is The Spine and even if he isn’t, could you maybe help him? Please?’

‘Of c-course we will!’ Rabbit didn’t even have to think about it. ‘We’ll be there as soon as we can!’

The line crackled as the call ended and Rabbit stood there, shivering all over. That robot, he had to be The Spine. _Had_ to be. Because there couldn’t be any other robots in Korea… could there? They had never heard of any other robots. It had only ever been them, before. Just him and his family, the ones Peter I had made. Unless, unless someone _else_ had made one? Maybe that was what the army had wanted all along, to use The Spine as a pattern and create their own?

 _No, it-it must be The Spine_ … But the truth was, he wanted it to be The Spine, _needed_ it to be, because he couldn’t do this without his brother. In reality, he wouldn’t put it past the army to do that, to create another robot. Another robot, in trouble. They _had_ to help, whether it was The Spine or not, because who else would help a robot? The only people who would had, by the sound of it, already done everything they could, and that was never good news, whether you were a human or an automaton. Even if this guy wasn’t The Spine, he was still a robot. He was still one of them.

‘Will you be needing those couple o’ days, Rabbit?’

Rabbit jumped and stared round at the colonel, who was leaning in the doorway, watching him.

‘Y-yes, sir, we will,’ he said, saluting. Then he realised he was holding the receiver to his forehead. He put it back in the bag, guiltily noticing the dents in the plastic from his fingers.

‘Well, provided we don’t get new orders in the morning, you can head out tomorrow afternoon.’

‘And i-if we do, sir?’ Rabbit met his colonel’s gaze and stuck out his chin in the expression that always used to make little Peter V giggle and The Spine sigh.

Colonel Macy hadn’t seen it in the week or so Rabbit and The Jon had been with the 38th, but he seemed to guess what that face meant.

‘Depends on what the new orders are,’ he said finally, eyeballing Rabbit just as stubbornly as Rabbit was eyeballing him. ‘If we’re pulling back or getting leave, you’ll get all the time you need. If it’s another push, then I need you here. You might have a family problem,’ he went on, as if expecting Rabbit to argue, ‘but so will a lot of families if you don’t do your bit to get our boys home alive. You can take your few days afterwards.’ His tone brooked no argument.

But Rabbit hadn’t really been going to argue, not unless Macy had refused them the time outright. Human lives were more important than theirs; that was simply the way of it and if Rabbit and The Jon had to wait to see their injured, perhaps dying, brother, then that was just how it would have to be.

He damped down the rebellious surge of power from his core and nodded at Macy. No matter how much he wanted to argue, no matter how much he wanted to take off immediately to find The Spine, he had to obey orders. Disobeying would only make it longer until they saw The Spine again.

He nodded again and made to walk out of the colonel’s tent, but Macy put out a hand to stop him.

‘I hope everything’s okay,’ he said, quietly. ‘You boys do good work here. I’d hate to lose you. For any reason.’

Rabbit glanced at him. More sympathy? He’d thought the handful of people from the 4077th would be the only ones they’d find who would treat them like humans. A tiny, tiny spark of hope flared in his chest.

‘Thank you, s-sir,’ he said, and twitched his black rubber lips in a brief smile. Then he edged past Colonel Macy and out of the tent.

The sun was shining for once, but the day was no less humid. The damp heat clung to his plates, just like the time, all those years ago, when he had started a superglue fight. The look on The Spine’s face had been worth the clean-up duty. And the days of sticky gears afterwards.

Oil built up in his eye sockets just as he tried to hold back his laughter. They were so close to getting The Spine back, _so close_. If they could only make sure he was okay… If it really was him…

He blinked the oil away and scanned the camp, spotting the slim figure of his brother as the sun bounced off his brass plates.

‘Hey, The Jon!’ he called. ‘Jon! They’ve f-f-f-f-found—’ He hesitated. ‘They’ve found someone! They think they’ve f-found The S-S-S-Spine!’

The jeep growled into the compound and choked to a halt outside the hospital. Major Sidney Freedman levered himself out and promptly sank up to his ankles in the thick mud. He sighed, accepting it as just another small part of life in Korea, then heaved his back out of the back.

‘Thank you, Private,’ he said to the driver, who revved the engine and took off at once, splattering more mud up Sidney’s trousers.

Sidney sighed again. It was going to be one of those days.

‘Morning, sir!’ said the earnest voice of Radar O’Reilly from behind him. Sidney turned and smiled at the corporal.

‘Good morning, Radar’ he said, wondering for the thousandth time what Radar’s childhood had been like and wishing he had the time to do a full study of every member of the 4077th. He could get three books out of them, at the very least. ‘Am I in the VD tent again? And what time’s the poker game?’

‘Yes, you are, sir,’ Radar replied, ‘and poker will be at eight o’clock this evening. Although Captain MacIntyre told me to tell you, sir, that he says there won’t be any poker if you haven’t looked at the patient, sir.’ He blushed. ‘That’s him saying that, not me, sir.’

‘Don’t worry, Radar,’ Sidney said gently. ‘I don’t shoot the messenger. Round up Trapper and Hawkeye for me, will you? I want some more information about this soldier. The message you left for me wasn’t very specific.’

‘Yes, sir,’ Radar said, already hurrying back into the hospital.

Sidney turned his feet towards the Visiting Doctor’s tent and began counting down from five. Barely had he muttered ‘1’ under his breath, when someone leaped out from behind a tent and pulled something tight around his throat.

‘Morning, Klinger,’ Sidney said as calmly as he could, fingers straining as he tried to heave the fur stole away from his windpipe.

‘Will you give me a Section 8 now, sir?’ asked Klinger in his ear.

‘Ergh…’ Sidney replied as the fox fur tightened. Someone shouted in the distance and boots clattered across the compound.

‘Give it to me, or you’re dead, sir!’

‘No…’ choked Sidney, fairly sure that Klinger wouldn’t actually kill him no matter what he said. Fairly sure. Except if it was by accident…

Then the stole suddenly disappeared and wonderful, fresh air filled his aching lungs.

‘Klinger!’ he heard Pierce yell. ‘Are you nuts?’

Sidney turned to greet his saviours. Trapper had the fox fur in one hand and the collar of Klinger’s sheer black satin gown in the other, while Hawkeye berated the corporal.

‘Exactly, sir!’ Klinger crowed, completely unabashed. ‘I’m so crazy, I actually think that strangling someone will make them give me a Section 8!’

‘That’s probably the best scheme you’ve thought of yet,’ Sidney admitted grudgingly, rubbing his sore throat. ‘Although, you do realise that if it worked, you’d have been confined to an asylum for the rest of your life as a violent lunatic? That is, if they didn’t have you shot for attempting to murder a superior officer.’

‘Oh,’ Klinger’s beak-like nose dropped. ‘I didn’t think of that.’

‘Try something a little less violent next time,’ Trapper said, letting go of his collar. ‘Go on, here’s your stole. Get out of here, before you do someone some real damage.’

Klinger took it and trudged away, his stomping gait completely at odds with his elegant dress.

‘That throat all right?’ Hawkeye asked.

‘Yeah, I think so,’ Sidney said hoarsely, rubbing it. Med school had been a long time ago, but he remembered enough to know that there was nothing seriously wrong with his throat.

Hawk grinned and lead the way to Sidney’s tent. He pushed open the door, grabbed Sidney’s bag and chucked it onto the cot. Trapper followed them in and they seated themselves on the bed, leaving Sidney to take the hard chair.

Sidney sighed for the third time that day.

‘You know,’ Trapper said thoughtfully, ‘you’re lucky Klinger wears women’s clothes, or he might have got a bootlace round your neck, instead of that stole. You’d have got more than bruising from that.’

‘I guess I should count my blessings,’ Sidney said, his voice still rough. ‘Now, who’s this patient you dragged me all the way down here to see? I didn’t get a whole lot of detail over the phone.’

Whatever the problem was, it was bad, he could tell. Trapper and Hawkeye stopped grinning, instantly, and glanced at each other.

‘He’s in a real bad way,’ Trapper began. ‘We think you’re the only one who has a shot at helping him.’

Sidney raised an eyebrow. ‘I’m flattered, but that doesn’t tell me what’s wrong with him. Although I’m guessing it’s not his body that’s in trouble,’ he added.

Hawk and Trapper exchanged glances.

‘Actually he’s in pretty shape,’ Hawkeye admitted. ‘But we can’t fix him. You see…’ He trailed off and looked ad Trapper for help.

‘He’s not human,’ Trapper said.

‘What?’ Sidney frowned at them, wondering whether it was these two he should actually be seeing. ‘What do you mean? If he isn’t human, what is he?’

‘He’s a robot,’ Trapper went on, deadly serious. ‘We’ve fixed all the parts we could but he’s not out of the woods just yet. But the biggest problem is, he can’t even remember who he is.’ His young face was creased, as though it had aged in the few seconds he had been speaking. Whether he was telling the truth, or whether the war had finally got to him, he had been deeply affected by it. For that reason alone, Sidney had to do what he could. Hawk and Trapper, they were good guys and their job drove them round the bend quite enough as it was, without other people’s problems adding to their burden. Hell, they’d saved _his_ sanity more than a few times, not from any specific thing they’d done, but just by being there, and behaving in the childish, mad, brilliant way they did.

‘Very well,’ Sidney said, nodding slowly. ‘I’ll take a look at him.’ He leant forward and asked, ‘Does he remember anything at all?’

‘His rank,’ Hawkeye spat, his lip twisting, ‘and he remembers why he’s here. He remembers the war and shooting people and not wanting to shoot people, but nothing before that. No name, no past, nothing. Not even his family.’

‘He has family?’ Sidney blinked. ‘There are _more_ robots here?’ He tried to decide whether that made it more or less likely that this was some sort of hallucination that Hawk and Trapper were having.

‘Well, not in camp. Not yet. They should be arriving soon. We’re hoping that’ll trigger his memory.’

Between them, Hawk and Trapper told him the whole story and by the time he finished, Sidney could see why they had called him in. It sounded exactly like one of his cases but even if there was nothing he could do, having him around, having an expert to make the decisions, would be a huge relief to the MASH staff.

He nodded thoughtfully, letting them know he was considering what to do.

‘I can see why you didn’t tell me this over the phone,’ he said. ‘It sounds totally crazy. But either it’s real, or the entire camp and half the patients are hallucinating en masse. And while that’s possible, I think it’s even less likely that what you’ve just told me.’

Hawkeye and Trapper smiled and their tense, hunched shoulders relaxed a little.

‘Of course, now you know what to expect, you could end up hallucinating with us,’ Trapper said, slyly, his crooked grin widening.

Sidney shrugged. ‘I can think of worse people to share a hallucination with,’ he said casually, as though he was talking about a dinner date, ‘and far worse hallucinations to share. Now, I’d better look this guy over, if I’m gonna do anything with him.’

‘I knew we could count on you, Sidney,’ Hawkeye said. Then his brief touch of seriousness fell away and he turned on the mischievous smile that everyone around him watched for with trepidation. ‘As you’re making a house call anyway, would you mind doing two for the price of one?’ He cocked an eyebrow and stretched out his legs. ‘Frank’s been acting really irrationally, you know, not making sense, contradicting himself, attacking people for no reason.’

‘Nothing out of the ordinary, then?’ Sidney remarked, grinning himself now.

‘Maybe you could make him unordinary?’ Trapper suggested. ‘You know, do your usual job in reverse. That might help.’

‘I was thinking something even simpler,’ said Hawk, shaking his head. ‘Like a straightforward lobotomy.’

The robot lay on his back and stared at the ceiling. There was nothing up there but corrugated metal, but even that was better than closing his eyes. Then he would have nothing to distract him from the endless noise, the thunder, the guns, the screams. The crushing guilt had settled around him, a blanket far heavier than the one the nurses had given him, and for the moment he was calm and still beneath its weight. Maybe, if he stayed still and quiet, he wouldn’t have to feel it properly. At the moment, it was like air: surrounding you, inside you, so you could almost forget it was there.

He wished his body were as numb as his mind.

Pain still jerked along his circuits, crackling through the stiff joints and fractured plates. Some of his oil lines were loose or were still missing; there was a faint trickle of liquid somewhere and it was flowing the wrong way, maddening, like some ancient Chinese torturer was working inside him.

He was hot, too. The jug of water that sat on his bedside table emptied so often the nurses were getting alarmed. But no matter how much steam he let out of his mouth, he just couldn’t cool down. He could always push the blanket off, but it was his only layer of protection. His uniform had gone, so there was nothing to disguise his metal plates from the hostile gazes of that were no doubt being aimed his way. Besides, he really didn’t want to see just how badly his chassis was damaged.

The robot fidgeted as he lay there. Something in his back was niggling him, like it was trying to burrow through the cot. What _was_ it?

‘Oh…’ he murmured softly as he realised. It was the cooling fins the army had put in when they had upgraded him. _More efficient_ , they had said. _More efficient than those ugly smokestacks._

Smokestacks? When had he had smokestacks? He didn’t remember them. Or did he?

Half-formed shadows swirled in his mind, dissolving the second he tried to grasp them. Faces, blurred, with no features. Voices, unintelligible and indistinguishable. Feelings, that burned him with their half-remembered warmth.

The ceiling was almost invisible now, hidden by a cloud of shifting steam. His boiler was running dry again, leaving his throat parched, and the remaining water in it was heating unevenly, because his core was supposed to be below his water tank, not beside it. He had been lying down for too long.

He reached out for the jug and picked it up. Its lightness caught him off guard and it jerked up in the air. Instinctively, he sat bolt upright, trying to avoid spilling the little water left in the bottom. As he did so, something grated painfully in his back and, before he could stop them, his fins slid out, wicking the excess heat away from his boiler. Steam poured from the vents that opened at their bases and drifted across the ward, setting the nearest patients coughing.

The robot looked hastily away from them and tried desperately to draw the fins back in. Even months after the upgrades, they still felt unfamiliar, wrong somehow. But his electronic systems were too damaged and he couldn’t override the automatic heat trigger. He swallowed the contents of the jug in one and felt the water slosh down into his boiler.

‘You want more?’

He twitched back and realised it was one of the nurses, approaching through the artificial fog with a another, full, jug.

‘Thank you,’ he said quietly, hand still wrapped around the handle of the empty one. ‘I’m sorry about this.’ He gestured stiffly at the dense cloud with his other hand.

‘It doesn’t matter,’ she said, smiling. ‘It’s easier to get rid of than blood, at least. Although I didn’t think it could possibly get any hotter or more humid in here. Maybe when I get home, you could come round and heat up a greenhouse for me?’ Her dark eyes twinkled.

He stared at her, an uncertain smile hovering around his lips. Sure, she had been making a joke, but she had also sounded like she was prepared, maybe even _willing_ to see him after the war.

He couldn’t remember anyone thinking that before. The staff here seemed nice, or most of them anyway, but it was professional niceness. They probably didn’t see him as a real person, just as another body to fix and get back out onto the line. But here was this nurse, smiling at him, joking with him like she thought he would understand and appreciate humour.

‘Maybe I’ll do that,’ he said at last, suddenly realising he had been staring at her this whole time without saying anything. ‘Thank you for the water, Lieutenant.’

‘Just Ginger, honey. Ginger Bayliss.’ Her smile broadened and she pulled the empty jug out of his hand and pushed the full one into it instead.

‘I’m…’ he began, more out of the overwhelming need to be polite than anything else.

‘Real impressive,’ she finished, marching over to the door to open it and let some of the steam out, then coming back. ‘Whoever built you must have been a genius.’

‘He was,’ the robot said softly, as oil welled up in front of his optics. ‘He was…’ He gritted his teeth together as he strained to remember and more steam gushed out of his back.

‘Hey…’ Ginger breathed, staring at his fins. ‘I didn’t see those before. We saw some weird plates inside you when we had you on the table, but we didn’t know what they were.’

He looked away and tried to draw his fins in again, but the shame only made him steam harder.

‘They supposed to cool you down?’ she asked, with much more interest than he had expected. His unit had always thought they were weird at best and dangerous at worst, because the steam could give away their position.

He nodded, still staring at his blanketed lap.

‘Then I’d keep ‘em out,’ Ginger said, matter-of-factly. ‘And while I’m checking on Watkins, get that water down you. I’m not having you boil dry.’ She gave him a stern look, that was somehow kind as well, and disappeared back into the cloud, muttering, ‘at least not before your family arrive. You gotta be awake to remember them.’

The robot blinked, surprised by how easily she had accepted his fins. Weren’t they odd, strange, unnatural? Certainly he thought of them that way. They were add-ons, part of the upgrades he’d been given. They weren’t what he used to be. Except he couldn’t remember what he used to be…

He drank the water, quickly at first, then slower as it hit the spot, and at last the steam clouds began to disperse. His plates ground against each other as his fins slid back in and he hissed slightly in pain. Something in there was bent and the fins no longer sat properly in their slots.

He turned jerkily and set the jug down on the table. Then a flash of blue caught his eye. There was a piece of blue paper sticking up between the cot and the table. He pulled it out and frowned at the magazine, its cover emblazoned with a painting of man hauling in a large, and apparently aggressive, salmon.

He looked around the ward, but no one showed any interest in it. Puzzled, but glad of something better to distract him from the noises than the ceiling, he turned to the first article and began to read.

It was better than Sidney had expected. The patient, if he or it could be called that, was sitting up, calmly reading a fishing magazine, rather as some of Sidney’s patients had done in his waiting room back home. However, no patient of his had ever given off small threads of steam before and he didn’t remember any of them having shining silver faces, either. The humanity of that simple act of reading, though, was… quite something. Sidney had been going along with Trapper and Hawkeye’s use of the word ‘he’ because he knew it was important to them. He had wanted to make up his own mind about whether this robot was a person and if he could treat him like one. But now he actually saw him, he found his mind made up for him.

‘Hello,’ he said, as he approached the bed.

The robot did not look up, but the boy in the next bed did.

‘Yes, doctor?’ he said, earnest, hopeful and worried in equal measure. Probably he was waiting on some test to see whether he would be sent back to the front lines or not.

‘Sorry,’ Sidney said, smiling reassuringly. ‘Actually, I was hoping to talk to your friend here.’ He nodded at the silent, silver figure.

‘That’s not my friend,’ the boy said quickly, as if he couldn’t bear to be associated with the robot.

‘I see,’ Sidney replied and took another step closer to the robot’s cot.

Now the robot looked up. His eyes, glowing a dim green, jumped straight to Sidney’s oak leaves and he dropped the magazine at once.

‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said, saluting, and Sidney raised his eyebrows. The robot’s voice was nothing like he had imagined. Even after hearing Trapper talk about the other robots singing, he had still assumed that there would be something mechanical about it. Instead, the robot’s voice was deep, rich and smooth, the voice of a movie star, a heart-throb, a famous singer. The voice of a human.

‘I didn’t realise you were speaking to me,’ the voice went on, a clear note of panic in it.

Sidney gave another reassuring smile, while wondering who the robot’s commanding officer had been.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ he said. ‘May I sit down? I’d like to talk to you.’

‘Of course, sir,’ the robot said politely, though the wariness was still there. ‘What do you want to talk to me about?’ He was very obviously _not_ looking directly at Sidney.

‘Well,’ Sidney began, settling himself into the chair between the beds, ‘I thought we could talk about you.’

‘I’m afraid there isn’t much to talk about, sir.’ The refusal was courteous, apologetic, but definite. It was also tinged with regret, because it wasn’t that he didn’t want to talk about himself, it was that he couldn’t. He had nothing to say. ‘May I ask, sir, why you want to talk about me?’

Sidney glanced down at the hand that shook where it lay on the blanket.

‘I’m a psychiatrist,’ he explained. ‘The doctors thought I could help you get your memory back.’

 _Now_ the robot lifted his head and the glowing eyes met his own. They were suddenly filled with a haunted, desperate hope. How could something artificial could produce such an emotion?

‘Can you…’ he started, then tailed off.

‘Can I what?’ Sidney tilted his head to one side.

‘Can you…’ The robot’s eyes flicked to the next bed, where the unfriendly boy was lying, then his voice lowered. ‘Can you stop the-the noise?’

‘The noise?’ Sidney asked, careful not to let anything negative show on his face. Trapper and Hawkeye had mentioned something about that, auditory hallucinations, but they hadn’t given him much detail.

‘It doesn’t stop,’ the robot said. His eyes unfocused and stared into the distance. His hands gripped the blanket as he listened to something only he could hear. ‘Never stops…On and on and on…’ His face plates shifted against each other, reproducing an expression of intense pain.

‘What does it sound like?’ Sidney asked. So far, this sounded like battle fatigue, although something told him it wasn’t as straightforward as that. If battle fatigue could even be called ‘straightforward’.

‘I didn’t want to, but they won’t stop…’ The robot was muttering under his breath now, apparently forgetting that Sidney was there, and his whole body was shaking now. Time to snap him out of it, before he spiralled too far.

‘Lieutenant,’ he said, loudly. If this was battle fatigue, it would be best to get the man used to the idea of going back to the lines as soon as possible and in the absence of a name he could do worse than remind him of his military rank.

The robot’s head snapped up and his face had gone suddenly blank, the face plates stiff.

‘Sir.’

Sidney paused, wondering if he’d miscalculated. The hope that had sparked in the robot’s eyes when Sidney had told him who he was had vanished and he had the uncomfortable impression of a shutter being drawn across the space between them. That was the opposite of what he needed. He needed the man to open up to him, not close himself off.

‘Do robots sleep?’ he asked, trying another sympathetic smile. ‘And if they do, how have you been sleeping?’

‘I do. And it’s been fine, sir.’

‘Really?’ Sidney said, curiously, sitting back in his chair. ‘I’d have thought you be having nightmares. Many of my patients do.’

The blankness flickered.

‘Well,’ the robot said, hesitantly, ‘I guess I haven’t been sleeping as well as I used to, since I came here.’

‘To the hospital?’

‘To the war,’ he said quietly, looking away again.

‘You slept well before that?’ Sidney asked, as casually as he could.

‘For the most part, sir.’ He hesitated, then went on. ‘I had nightmares occasionally, but not as… frequently.’

‘What were the nightmares about?’

‘Africa.’

They both blinked and the robot frowned, his face plates shifting against each other once more.

‘Africa…’ he repeated, narrowing his eyes as if trying to squint at something on the opposite wall.

‘What about Africa?’ Sidney prompted gently. The seat was getting uncomfortable, but he tried not to fidget, not to break the robot’s concentration.

‘I don’t know.’ The robot’s voice cracked on the last word. ‘I can’t remember. It’s gone.’

Sidney watched something black well up around the robot’s eyes, like tears. He could _cry?_

‘What about your nightmares now?’ he asked. This wouldn’t be any pleasanter a topic, but at least it was one his new patient should be able to remember. ‘What are they about?’

The robot lifted a shaking hand and gestured around the room.

‘All of this,’ he replied, the oil disappearing as he blinked. ‘The war. The guns. My unit.’

‘The doctors here told me you tried to save a man from your unit,’ Sidney said. This was dangerous ground he was treading on, but he had to give the patient something positive to think about. ‘They said you walked all the way here with him, even though you were wounded yourself. That was very brave of you.’

‘Brave?’ The robot stared at him, obviously shocked. ‘But I failed! He died. Stephens died!’ Anguish twisted his features, forcing metal into configurations Sidney wouldn’t have thought possible.

‘But you still tried,’ he pointed out. ‘Most people I know would’ve got help for themselves first. They wouldn’t have been so selfless. It was a good thing you did.’

The robot blinked slowly, taking this in.

‘But I still failed…’ he muttered, dropping his gaze again. ‘Another person I couldn’t save. Another person dead because of me.’

‘It feels like that,’ Sidney agreed. Not all of his patients responded well to treatment and in a war zone it was difficult to ensure that none of them got hold of anything dangerous. He considered the memories coolly and decided they might help him bridge the gap between himself and his patient. ‘But no one can do more than their best. And if that’s not enough, that’s not their fault. Everyone here, the doctors, the nurses, me, we all feel guilty about the ones we couldn’t save. We all tell ourselves that if we’d just tried harder, we could have done something more. But there’s a limit to what we can do. We’re only human. And,’ he went on, before the patient reacted adversely to that comment, ‘I’m including you in that category.’

‘I’m not human.’

Sidney’s insides squirmed at how flat and empty, how definite the robot’s voice was.

‘Well, you’re shaped like a human,’ he pointed out, reining in his emotions once again, so that they wouldn’t show, ‘and judging from what you’ve said so far, you think pretty much like a human. I’ve met plenty of people in my time who it was hard to call human, but you ain’t one of them.’

The robot looked up again and stared at him with the most curious expression on his face.

‘You never answered my question, sir,’ he said at last.

‘Which question was that?’

‘Can you stop the noise?’ The robot’s voice fell to a whisper, and his eyes glowed suddenly brighter, pleading with him.

‘I’ll do everything I can,’ he promised, ‘to get you back on your feet and fighting fit.’ He gave the robot another encouraging smile.

‘Okay.’ The robot nodded, staring into the distance once more. He didn’t react when Sidney’s stomach grumbled loudly. It was was though he’d forgotten his presence already.

Sidney glanced at his watch. He only had an hour or so before poker and he hadn’t eaten yet. Trapper and Hawkeye’s explanation had taken a while and this conversation must have taken longer than he’d thought.

‘Well, I think that’s enough to be going on with, don’t you?’ he said, smiling again. ‘Get some rest now and I’ll come and talk to you in the morning, if that’s all right.’

‘Of course, sir,’ the robot said, turning back, though he still looked preoccupied. ‘And thank you,’ he added, meeting Sidney’s eyes again.

‘Don’t thank me yet,’ Sidney said. ‘Save it for when you feel like yourself again.’ And he took his leave, playing the conversation he’d just had over and over in his mind and trying to work out what it was that didn’t quite fit. Perhaps things would become clearer when the family arrived. They would probably jog the robot’s memory and they could also give Sidney a clearer picture of how his patient was supposed to be.

Rabbit stared ahead of the jeep, watching the headlights eating up the road, the breeze blowing straight into his face. The Jon was huddled next to him, twisting his army cap in his hands.

‘We’re nearly th-there, The Jon,’ Rabbit muttered, flashing a quick grin at his brother before turning to face the road again.

‘Yeah…’ The Jon said, his voice almost lost in the roar of the engine. Then it grew louder, more confident. ‘And it’ll be all right, Rabbit. You’ll see!’

‘Uh-huh.’ It was going to be all right. Rabbit wasn’t letting himself consider any other possibility. Like the possibility that this wasn’t The Spine they were going to see. Or the possibility that he was too badly injured to save. Or that he was already dea—

Rabbit twitched, throwing off that thought.

_No, it must be The Spine! He’s at the 4077th! We’re going to see him!_

He gripped the seat tighter and felt his fingers squeak against the metal. The Spine would be there and everything would be all right. The Spine always made everything all right.

_It’s got to be The Spine… It’s got to be…_

And then they rounded a bend and suddenly there was light ahead of them.

‘This is it,’ grunted their surly driver. He was one of their unit, but he had been rude to The Jon when he had gone to fetch them some oil the other day, so Rabbit had made a point of not learning his name. And of moving his things around when no one was looking. It was a small bit of revenge, but boy, it felt good.

They rattled past the ramshackle houses and under the wooden sign, feeling, Rabbit realised, almost exactly the same as the last time they had come past here. Then, they had been leaving their only connection to The Spine behind, heading for a new unit. Now, they were coming back to him, but uncertain of what they would find. Excitement and fear crackled through his circuits in equal measure and the tension made his gears stickier than ever.

‘It’ll be okay,’ The Jon said again, releasing his cap to put a hand on Rabbit’s arm.

‘T-t-th-th-thanks,’ Rabbit stammered. The touch helped steady him, just a little, and his core stopped pulsing quite so strong.

And then they were slowing down, splattering through the mud next to the latrines and coming to a halt outside the dimly lit front of the hospital, with the glowing shape of the Swamp behind them.

‘Thanks, C-Cannon,’ Rabbit said to the driver as they climbed out.

‘It’s Brannon,’ he said, glaring.

Rabbit put his head on one side.

‘But you’re always about to go off!’ he said.

The Jon sniggered and Cannon glared even more. He put his foot on the accelerator and pulled sharply away, spraying them both with mud.

‘If he’s always about to go off,’ The Jon said, innocently. ‘he should be cheese. Old cheese.’

‘Old Cannon Cheese,’ Rabbit said decisively. ‘I l-l-like it!’ He gave a short cackle of laughter, then jumped when someone behind them said, ‘Sirs?’

He turned and pounced on the small, round figure of his favourite clerk in the whole, wide world.

‘Argh!’ Radar cried from the depths of Rabbit’s hug.

The Jon hit Radar from the other side and nuzzled his brass cheek against his woolly hat.

‘Thank you,’ Rabbit said, gripping the squeaking boy firmly. ‘Thank you.’ Just for a few moments, he could pretend that everything was okay, that it definitely was The Spine they were going to see and they were a family again.

At last they let him go and he stumbled, blushing.

‘Geez, I didn’t really do anything, guys,’ he muttered, though Rabbit could tell he was really quite pleased. ‘You’re so embarrassing.’

‘Where’s The Spine?’ The Jon asked, before Rabbit could.

‘You mean, the guy we think _might_ be The Spine, although he might _not_ be him?’ Radar said, anxiously. ‘He’s in post-op. But there’s something I need to tell you first!’ he added hurriedly. ‘He’s—’

But Rabbit didn’t hear the rest of Radar’s sentence, because he had already burst through the doors into the hospital, The Jon hard on his heels. He couldn’t bear the agony of suspense any longer, he _had_ to see if this really was his brother. Had to get it over with if it wasn’t.

A flash of silver in the far bed, right by the nurse’s station. He shot forwards, propelled by hope and fear in equal measure, his core churning and writhing inside him as though it had come alive.

‘Th-th-the S-S-Spine?’

The man in the bed looked up.

Rabbit staggered, a great wave of relief crashing down on him, driving almost to the floor. The Jon caught him and then he too gazed, open-mouthed, at their brother.

‘What happened to you?’ he asked.

Rabbit looked again and his mouth fell open too. The Spine was covered in dents. And holes. His uniform was gone, showing smeared, battered plates and Rabbit’s nose caught the strong smell of oil and hydraulic fluid.

But more than that. He was _different_. His face was the same, but where had the smokestacks gone? And even without seeing them properly, Rabbit could tell there were other changes too. His brother no longer sat the same way he used to. He balanced differently.

‘U-u-upgrades,’ he muttered.

‘Spine?’ The Jon asked, sounding hesitant now.

Rabbit frowned, dread uncoiling from his core and sending ice-cold rivulets through all his oil lines.

Why hadn’t The Spine spoken to them?

He dropped to his knees beside the bed and peered anxiously into the glowing green eyes that he remembered so well.

The eyes stared straight back him. For a moment, something sparkled deep within them.

‘S-S-S-Sp-p-p-pi-i-in-ne?’ he said, stammering worse than ever. Behind him, The Jon whined.

The eyes dimmed and turned blank.

Then, at last, the achingly familiar voice spoke. At its words, Rabbit fell back from the bed, every gear jerking stiffly, so that his whole body twitched and trembled.

‘Who are you?’


	10. Rabbit's Letter

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm really sorry this is a week late. The plan was to finish it last Sunday, but I suddenly had a load of extra classes to teach. And then when I finally did finish it, my beta reader couldn't do it until today.
> 
> I'm hoping the next chapter will go quicker, as I've started it already, but we'll see.

The noon sun peeked out from between the clouds and stretched down inquisitive fingers to the 4077th. They slipped through the mesh walls of the Swamp but their light did nothing to dispel the gloom within.

_Dear Master Peter,_

‘That’s too formal, Rabbit. Why are you writing like that?’

_Heya little P5,_

‘Rabbit…’

_Dear Peter V,_

‘You could have just written that to start with, Rabbit…’

‘J-Jon…’ Rabbit’s voice shook, but his hands shook even worse, sending stray lines scattering across the paper.

The Jon leaned forward and patted Rabbit’s knee. His blue eyes glowed sadly from under his curls.

‘It’ll be okay, Rabbit,’ he whispered. ‘We’ll get him back.’

‘H-h-h-how, Jon?’ Rabbit asked, staring into his brother’s eyes, desperately hoping he would have an answer. ‘He’s there, but he’s n-n-not _h-here_.’

The Jon dropped his gaze to the Swamp’s grubby floor. ‘I don’t know.’

_Dear Peter V,_

_We thought it was about time we wrote to you. Well, actually, The Jon nagged me until I did. I said I’d rather just come home to see you, but he wouldn’t let me. Okay, the army wouldn’t let me, but The Jon didn’t want me to either._

_How are you doing? It must be pretty grim in the orphanage. When we can, we’ll come and ~~break you out. We’ll go over the wall like we once did with your father, when he got grounded.~~ give you and your friends a concert. (The Jon made me cross that bit out, but I’ll still come and rescue you. We’ll sneak you out in an instrument case if we have to.) We’ll let you know as soon as we’re back in the country and we’ll organise it with the orphanage. The concert, that is, not your escape. We don’t want them to know about that._

_We’re in a new camp for a few days. It’s called the 4077th and the people here are really nice._

‘What are you two doing in here?’ Major Burns asked suspiciously as he entered the Swamp. He stared down his thin nose at the two robots, Rabbit hunched on Hawkeye’s cot, The Jon perched on Hawkeye’s chair.

‘Captain Pierce said we could use his pen and paper, sir,’ The Jon said, carefully not meeting the major’s eyes, ‘to write a letter to our family.’

Rabbit didn’t look up. He didn’t trust himself not to shout ‘Apple Face’ again and if he did, no doubt the letter to little Peter would get ruined somehow. And the thought of losing yet another connection to his family, even just a piece of paper, made his core rattle in its casings.

‘How can you have family?’ Major Burns sounded almost curious. He stuck in his hands in his pockets and a crease appeared between his small, watery eyes.

‘Our Pa—our creator’s great-grandson is in an orphanage,’ The Jon said quietly.

 _Don’t_ tell _him!_ Rabbit thought, glaring at his brother. His gears stiffened, waiting for the major’s fury to break over them as it had done before.

The Jon seemed not to notice and carried on.

‘We’re writing to him, to cheer him up,’ he said, giving the major a sad little smile. ‘It cheers us up, too. We miss him.’

Major Burns blinked, twitching his nose like a confused stoat.

‘Oh,’ he said at last. He worked his mouth and sniffed. ‘I’ll, erm, leave you to it, then.’ He took a book from the shelves over his bed, then disappeared out of the Swamp, letting the door bang shut behind him.

‘He’s not so angry anymore, now,’ The Jon said, looking after him.

Rabbit nodded, swallowed and turned back to his letter.

_Most of the people are really nice, anyway. They had a party last time we were here and we played for them. They really liked us. Well, most of them did. There’s a major here with a face like an apple, the shiny ones that your grandpappy used to eat, and he didn’t like our music very much. We don’t care about him though, ‘cos the others are nice. There’re a couple of doctors called Hawkeye and Trapper. You’d like them. They’re always joking and making people feel better._

_Then there’s Radar O’Reilly. You’d like him too. He’d let you read his comic books and he can tell what people are thinking, which is kinda weird, but neat. It makes him a bit like us, I guess._

_And there’s a nurse called Ginger, who thinks we’re handsome, and a priest called Father Mulcahy. He’s a lot kinder than most of the priests we’ve met._

_What about the orphanage? What’re the other kids like? Have you made any friends? And what about the adults? If anyone’s mean to you, make sure you tell them that they’d better stop, or your robot uncles are gonna kick their ~~asses~~ butts. (The Jon made me change that, too. He’s got very bossy since we came to Korea.)_

_I guess you’re thinking that if The Jon’s bossing me around, then we still haven’t managed to meet up with The Spine yet. But you’d be wrong! Like I wrote you in our last letter, we haven’t got to serve with The Spine this time around, but he’s here at this camp too! We can’t stay with him long, ‘cos our commanding officer can only spare us for a few days. But we got to see him last night, for the first time in ages. He says—_

A drop of oil slid from Rabbit’s nose and landed on the paper with a soft _pat_. More oil moved sluggishly through his throat, clogging up his pipes, and his core flared, turning heartache to burning pain.

He turned his head away from the paper and peered through the mesh walls, training his photoreceptors on Father Mulcahy’s white hat as it ducked out of its tent and hurried across the compound towards the hospital. The hospital… Where his brother lay, injured, in pain, and no longer quite his brother.

He could feel The Jon’s anxious eyes on him, so he turned back to the letter, as if he had only been thinking what to write next on a shopping list. Staring at the page, however, didn’t make words come any quicker. He couldn’t tell Peter V that his uncle—

Rabbit couldn’t bring himself to think the words, let alone write them. Finally, he pressed the pen back onto the paper and continued, leaving a space around the black stain that had soaked into the middle of the sheet.

_He says hi. He’s really busy now, but he’s looking forward to going home and seeing you all again. He says if you’re good, he’ll sing whatever you want him to when we come and do your concert_ and _he’ll let you play with his guitar. If you’re_ really, really _good, he’ll give you a ride, like he did before we went. He misses you as much as we do._

‘Who are you?’

Rabbit fell back from the bed, every gear jerking stiffly, so that his whole body twitched and trembled. The Jon grabbed him under his arms as his legs gave way and his stabilisers glitched. All his weight fell on to The Jon’s arms, but his brother merely gripped tighter and hauled Rabbit back to his feet, holding him as his stabilisers kicked back in again.

‘Who _are_ you?’ said his other brother’s voice, again.

‘We’re your brothers…’ whispered The Jon. He shook too, so that his plates vibrated against Rabbit’s.

The Spine’s photoreceptors glowed dully and he shook his head, frowning.

‘No,’ he muttered.

‘I-i-i-it’s true!’ Rabbit insisted, wrapping his own arms around The Jon. ‘I’m R-Rabbit and this is The J-Jon and you’re our brother, The S-pine!’

 _Come on!_ His eyes flickered as he gazed at The Spine, willing him to remember.

‘But I don’t remember you,’ The Spine said, still staring back at them. ‘You can’t be my brothers.’ He blinked quickly, but not before Rabbit caught the glint of oil in his eyes. ‘I can’t have brothers.’

Rabbit’s bellows seized up and his vision dimmed for a moment. Beside him, The Jon moaned again.

‘W-w-w-we r-remember you,’ he began, refusing to believe what he had just heard. ‘Don’t you remember P-Pappy and Iris? And Peters II and III? A-and IV and V? And Mark and the Prof-f-f-fessor and Walter Manor and—’

‘No.’

The Spine’s voice cut across his, cold and hard, and Rabbit fell silent. He shivered. He’d only heard The Spine talk like that once, a long time ago, on a cold night in the middle of the savannah.

He couldn’t go down that road now. He had to help The Spine and remembering Africa wasn’t going to do that. He cast around for a happy memory.

‘What about your ha-at, Spine?’ he asked, trying to sound cheerful, even inside, something seemed to have sprung a leak.

The Jon leaned forward.

‘Don’t you remember your hat? And the lady who gave it to you?’ he asked nervously.

Rabbit made a brave attempt at the wicked grin that before had always made The Spine groan.

‘D-d-don’t you remember that dancer, F-Fiona? And—’

‘No!’ The Spine shouted. Rabbit flinched and The Jon pulled back, quivering. The Spine never shouted. He raised his voice occasionally, but he never, _ever_ shouted at them, not even that time when Rabbit had broken The Spine’s guitar because he’d been misbehaving.

‘Doctor!’ he heard Lieutenant Dish call somewhere behind him and, ‘Sir!’ echoed Radar’s voice from outside.

‘What happened to you?’ The Jon asked, softly, fear trembling in his voice.

The Spine finally looked away from them again and shrugged. His movements were stiff and pained.

‘The war,’ he said, flatly.

‘If you don’t remember us,’ The Jon carried on, leaning forward again and loosening his grip on Rabbit, ‘what do you remember?’

‘The war,’ The Spine said again, in exactly the same tone. ‘That’s all there is.’ He lifted his head and gazed past them. Rabbit twisted his head, but the men in the beds opposite were unconscious. He turned back and realised The Spine was looking at something only he could see. His eyes shone brighter now, but they were somehow flatter than before, the glass of his photoreceptors glinting strangely in the green light.

‘All there is,’ he repeated to himself and Rabbit shivered to hear him. ‘All there is. Nothing but war. Dead. All dead. So many, so many many many. Screaming as they died, screaming now, never stopping. My fault. Killed them all, _made_ them scream­­—’

‘S-stop!’ Rabbit cried, ‘please, st-st-st-st—’ His head ticked to the side and his jaw spasmed, his whole body fighting the idea that The Spine was hurt. Broken. Gone. He was talking like, well, like Rabbit sometimes did. Muttering, repeating himself, saying things that didn’t quite make sense. Rabbit talked like that because it was just how he thought, in circles and loops instead of in straight lines, like humans seemed to. But he didn’t speak in that awful, hollow voice, or at least, he didn’t normally. Sometimes when he remembered the wars they’d been in, Africa, or that terrible, damp chamber under the Beciles’ house.

The Spine never spoke like that, never, not even when they shared their memories to help ease the pain of them. He had always been calm, reserved, in control even when he hurt as badly inside as Rabbit did.

The Spine fell silent. He glared sullenly, _angrily_ , at Rabbit as Rabbit finally brought his jaw back under his own control and stopped the stuttering.

‘Let us help you,’ The Jon whispered, his fingers clutching Rabbit so tightly they felt like they were leaving dents in the copper plates. ‘We’ll help you remember.’

‘Y-yeah…’ Rabbit added weakly, as several pairs of footsteps entered the ward. The Spine’s eye sockets brimmed with oil again. ‘We’ll help you get your memories back. So we can be a family again,’ he added, even more quietly.

‘No.’ The Spine said quietly.

‘W-w-w-hat? You don’t— We’re g-g-gonna h-help you!’

‘No, you won’t!’ The Spine cried.

His deep voice cracked through the quiet hospital, ear-shatteringly loud. The footsteps broke into a run and several patients jerked awake with shouts of alarm. ‘I’m not your brother! Get away from me! _Stay away._ ’ His face plates contorted into an expression Rabbit had never seen on his brother’s face before. Rabbit flinched back, oil spilling from his eyes and The Jon whimpered.

People shoved past them, sending him stumbling backwards.

‘I’m sorry,’ said Trapper’s voice hurriedly, ‘but I think you’d better leave. We need to get him calmed down.’

‘He-he,’ The Jon began, his own tears following the vertical joins in his face plates.

‘I know, but there’s nothing you can do right now,’ Trapper said, gesturing them towards the door. ‘I’m sorry,’ he added again.

The Jon took Rabbit’s hand and pulled him from the ward.

Rabbit didn’t resist. He turned his head and snatched one last look over his shoulder before The Jon towed him outside into the thick, humid night.

Together, they walked away from the door to post op, then stopped. They should probably report in, get billeting, get oil and water, but all Rabbit cared about was the battered form of The Spine lying in that narrow little hospital bed. His brother’s body, his brother’s face, his brother’s voice. All inhabited by a total stranger.

_We didn’t get to sleep until really late last night, way past your bedtime. We had too much to talk about._

That, at least, was true. They had had too much to talk about, so much they hadn’t discussed any of it in the end. If only he could tell Peter V the truth. But the poor kid didn’t deserve that, not on top of losing his parents and being separated from his family. Bad enough he’d been stuck in that orphanage, they didn’t have to destroy his image of them as heroes too. It was bad enough _his_ image of The Spine had been shattered.

His hand wobbled to a stop, blotting the last word.

‘J-Jon?’ he said, his vision clouding with black fluid.

The Jon didn’t say anything, but his slender brass fingers curled around Rabbit’s arm and squeezed.

Rabbit trembled even harder. As carefully as he could, he laid the letter and the pen aside and then flung his arms round his brother.

The Jon rested his chin on Rabbit’s bandana and made little crooning noises. Once, The Spine would have thrown his arms around the pair of them, would have made it all okay…

The Jon sniffed and the sound dragged Rabbit back to the present. Whatever The Jon had said, he still needed Rabbit to look out for him, to be the Big Brother until The Spine got better.

Rabbit straightened up and wiped his eyes on his already-blackened cuffs.

‘Better f-finish this letter. What e-e-else do w-we say?’

‘Tell him to make sure he’s getting enough sleep,’ The Jon said, sniffing again and leaning sideways in the chair to look at the letter, ‘and that he’s eating okay.’

_The Jon says to make sure you’re getting enough sleep and you’re eating properly. If you don’t, then you might get sick and if we come back and you’re sick, we won’t be able to put a concert on for you, will we? Also, if you’re sick, you won’t be able to leg it over the wall with us. So make sure you look after yourself, Peter, okay?_

The pen nib trembled an inch above the paper and Rabbit heaved a sigh.

What else was there to say? No matter how bad he’d felt, he’d always tried to end letters to Peter V on a cheery note, tell him some long and complicated story that would have the kid in stitches. Not literally. A human in real stitches wasn’t good. Peter would notice something was wrong if Rabbit didn’t tell him a funny story, but he couldn’t think of anything. There didn’t seem to be any laughter left in the camp. Maybe there wasn’t any left in the whole of Korea. It had all been smothered by the wet summer heat.

He looked up at The Jon, peering into his brother’s glowing blue eyes, hoping to find a happy memory there he could shar.

The Jon bit his bottom lip, chewing on the thick black rubber. He still had dried oil in the joins of his face plates. He shrugged.

‘Sorry, Rabbit,’ he said, looking away. ‘I don’t know what to tell him either…’

‘Am I interrupting?’

They both jumped at the sound of Hawkeye’s voice and glanced up to see him, head bent, in the doorway.

‘N-n-no, of course not,’ Rabbit said, jumping to his feet. The bed groaned as his weight left it. ‘Do you nee-eed us for anyth-thing? Oh!’ He had gripped the pen too tightly in his anxiety and black ink was now leaking over his fingers to land on a pair of Hawkeye’s socks that were currently decorating the floor. ‘I’m s-s-sorry!’

‘Don’t worry about it!’ Hawkeye said quickly, waving a hand, his other clutching a jug. ‘I’ve got worse than ink on them before now!’

The Jon gave a very small smile.

‘We’ll clean them for you,’ he offered.

‘Don’t worry about it,’ Hawkeye said again, face etched with concern. ‘Getting the stains out’ll give me something to do next time I’m bored. There’ve been times when I’ve _longed_ for a really tough stain to get my teeth into.’

The Jon’s smile widened slightly.

‘If you’re sure,’ he said. ‘We’re used to cleaning up after Rabbit. We get a lot of practice.’

‘H-hey,’ Rabbit said, staring at his brother in mild indignation. ‘I got anything dirty in a-ages!’ In fact, it was _The Jon_ who’d had the grubbiest uniform last night, because he’d got splashed with mud on the road. But Rabbit didn’t say that, because he was being Sensible. He had to be Sensible until The Spine was better. He had no intention of forgetting it though. He would use it to tease The Jon with later.

‘We’re having a movie later,’ Hawkeye said. His voice was casual, but it was a lie. His face showed that. ‘Wondered if you’d like to join us. Not sure what they’re showing, so it’s potluck.’ He spread his hands and tried to grin. ‘Could be the latest Katherine Hepburn or it could be the latest army offering on VD. Can I tempt you?’

‘Th-thanks,’ Rabbit said, dully, ‘but we’re ok-k-kay.’ He knew the doctor meant well, but he simply couldn’t summon the energy to respond cheerfully, not when his core sat sullenly in his chest, burning with cold pain. The Jon just nodded, without looking up.

‘Okay,’ Hawkeye said. ‘Well, feel free to stay in here as long as you want. Oh,’ he added, edging further into the tent, ‘I thought you might need some water.’ He lifted a jug up as if offering proof, then crossed the small, dim space to set it down by the still. ‘I’ll be in the mess tent if you need me,’ he said. ‘Yeah… Well, I’ll leave you to it.’

He crossed back again and slipped out of the door. Rabbit sighed with relief and some of the gears in his shoulders turned a little more freely. Hawkeye meant well, but there was just too much none of them had wanted to say. It got in the air, clogged things up, made people uncomfortable. It was so much easier when it was just him and The Jon, because they didn’t have to say anything. Didn’t have to talk about how their brother didn’t want to see them, didn’t recognise them, or about how their presence might actually have made him worse.

Trapper pulled the silk through one last time, cut the thread and then looked down at his handiwork. What had been a ruin of lacerated, bleeding flesh was now a person once again, a person who would, unless something totally unseen foreseen happened, live to fight another day. He sighed. A plane had been shot down but the pilot was the only one’d who’d been seriously injured. He should feel something, something more than the tiredness dragging at his eyelids. The airman was just another body, warm and bleeding when it came in and warm and breathing when it went out. As long as the body wasn’t cold and still when it left, did it really matter what happened in between?

He slouched out of the OR and stripped off his cap and gown, dumping them in the laundry bags. Behind him, Hot Lips did the same.

 _Better carry on with my rounds_ , he thought, sighing. He still had an hour or so left on his shift and he should probably do something useful before drowning the leaden ball in his stomach in alcohol, so he made his way back through the hospital to post op.

‘Anything happen while I was gone?’ he asked Lieutenant Amir, trying to summon up the energy to be suggestive.

‘No, Doctor,’ she said, not looking up from the desk, but continuing to stare down at the medical notes in front of her.

‘Good.’ He found a reserve of energy somewhere and perched himself on the desk, grinning. ‘Though it must have been terribly boring without me.’

‘No, Doctor,’ she said coolly. ‘The peace and quiet made a nice change.’

Trapper sighed.

‘You’re still seeing Hawkeye, aren’t you?’ he said. ‘What’s he got that I haven’t?’

‘Nothing,’ she said, shrugging. ‘It’s just he made a move before you did.’

‘We could have shared,’ Trapper said, standing up again. ‘I’m real good at that. Bet you are too.’ He twitched his eyebrows at her.

‘Sorry,’ Amir said, turning her eyes back on the form and signing it. ‘It’s easier to schedule if I stick to one at a time.’

‘All right,’ he said, lifting both hands. ‘I give up. For the moment.’

He turned away, the tiny spark of newfound energy fizzling out. He’d better use the last of it to do his actual job, as sex was out.

The first bed was the robot’s— _The Spine’s_ , he corrected himself. The metal man was sitting up, but his eyes were closed and his chest plates lifted and then sank back together again slowly and regularly.

‘Is he asleep?’ he asked Amir.

‘I think so,’ she said, looking up again. ‘He hasn’t moved all day.’

Trapper rubbed his stubbly jaw. No doubt the incident last night was behind this. Was it a sign The Spine was trying to retreat from the world, escape into dreams, or was it simply that he still needed the rest? They hadn’t yet been able to do any further repair work on him, after all. Until he was in a more stable frame of mind, mucking around with his insides was no doubt a sure-fire way to make him even worse, quite apart from the damage they could do through lack of expertise and equipment.

The Spine looked strangely frail for a robot, he realised. No one had given him a replacement uniform and his battered silver plates were starkly bright against the dark green blankets. They didn’t make him look muscly or strong, though. He knew the robots _were_ strong, stronger than any human who came through the camp, but they didn’t look it. Most of the soldiers who came through here had more muscle than this guy.

He checked that there was oil and water by the bedside in case it was needed, though he had every confidence in Amir, and noted the fishing magazine that had ended up there as well. No doubt it was one of Henry’s that had somehow gone walkabout.

 _I’ll get him some clothes_ , he decided as he moved on to the next bed. The boy who had been there had been shipped out that morning and the pilot he had just patched back together was now occupying it. He quickly checked nothing had happened in the fifteen or so minutes since he had last seen the man and then carried on.

But he couldn’t stop himself from glancing over his shoulder every now and then to look at the tall, metal, oddly vulnerable form of the robot.

 _Maybe he’s trying to escape the memory of last night_ , he thought, as he picked up a chart. _Wonder what made him flip out like that? He’s been scared before, but never_ angry.

 _And how the hell must Rabbit and The Jon feel?_ He hadn’t seen them since he’d had to send them away last night and he’d been so caught up in his shift today that he’d barely thought about them.

 _Idiot_ , he cursed himself, scanning the chart, _they came here thinking they’d find their brother and he yelled at them to go away. How do you think they feel?_

He signed the patient off to be shipped out next morning and spent the remaining half an hour of his shift trying to think of ways to help his robotic friends. In the end, he decided to invite them to the movie that night. Popcorn, a crowd of people determined to enjoy themselves and a corny old picture. That might distract them a bit, at least. And before he went to find Rabbit and The Jon, he would stop off at Supply and get The Spine some fresh fatigues.

‘Attention.’ The much-dreaded voice of the P.A. rang across camp and in the rising dusk Francis saw several people twitch. ‘Tonight’s movie will be _Bringing Up Baby_ starring Katherine Hepburn and Cary Grant, the story of two people falling in love amidst ridiculous situations, increasing chaos and a leopard. Kind of sounds like the 4077th, apart from the love.’

A few people sniggered and Francis smiled. It was good to hear some kind of laughter after the trying couple of weeks they had all had. Besides, he hadn’t actually seen the film and it wasn’t often they got something through he hadn’t watched a hundred times already. He had had to spend several nights sitting up with a sick parishioner when it had first come out and then when it was on later, he had just never found the time.

Buoyed by the thought of something fresh and, hopefully, light-hearted, he repositioned his white hat and carried on his way across the camp. It was time he visited The Spine. Really, he should have done so already, but when they had hundreds of patients come through like they had last week, he was always busy for days afterwards, even once the actual surgery had finished. So many of the boys seemed to need a reason why they were still alive when their buddies hadn’t made it.

If he was honest with himself, he had also been avoiding the robot. The memory of the shambling, almost demonic form, the wreathing mist and, above all, the rotting corpse, had been lurking around him since that day, taking form at night to stalk through his dreams. Even though he knew The Spine had been trying to help, even though he had seen him, broken and helpless on the hospital cot, something had kept him from going back.

 _A little courage wouldn’t go amiss, Lord,_ he thought, glancing up at the sky, _if You’ve got a moment._ The courage to face the very real possibility that it wasn’t The Spine he was frightened of but his own cowardice.

 _Well, no time like the present,_ he told himself, realising that he had been staring at the post op doors for some time. He opened them and walked softly in, blinking in the light after the gathering dark outside. He smiled at the patients as he passed and nodded to Lieutenant Scorch who was going on shift, his calm presence belying the nerves cramping his belly.

He stopped at the end bed and gazed down at the figure sitting in it. How different it was from the shape in his nightmares.

Sleeping. He was _sleeping_ , chest rising and falling, head lolling slightly to one side, eyelids and face plates occasionally twitching. Francis felt a surge of something that shook him down to his boots; a desire to protect this man, so vulnerable and alone.

Francis’s hand brushed something and he looked down. Someone had draped a clean set of fatigues over the frame of the cot. Someone, perhaps a different someone, had left a magazine on the bedside table. Small gestures of kindness, little things to make the terrible wounds inflicted on this man just that tiny bit easier to bear.

‘“For they shall be comforted”,’ he said under his breath.

As if in answer to his words, the robot’s whole body jerked. Then his eyelids fluttered open and he gazed at Francis, his dimly glowing eyes slightly narrowed in suspicion.

‘Good evening,’ Francis said, taking off his hat.

‘Good evening,’ The Spine replied, his eyes following the hat as it left the priest’s head.

‘I’m Father Mulcahy.’ Francis shuffled around the side of the bed and smiled. ‘I just thought I’d stop by and see how you were.’

‘Why?’ asked The Spine, leaning back, as though afraid he might catch something. The suspicion in his face deepened. ‘Why would a priest want to see me?’

 _Because I wanted to make sure someone did,_ Francis said in the privacy of his own head, _and because I needed to face my own fears_.

Out loud, he merely said,

‘Well, because you’re injured. Everyone needs someone checking up on them when they’re unwell, don’t they?’ Then he added the line he sometimes used on those who were wary of the Church. ‘If it helps, forget I’m a priest. Just think of me as a concerned friend.’

The Spine’s expression changed from one of suspicion to complete bafflement and his next words stuck Francis as sharply as any knife blade.

‘Why does everyone here seem to care about me?’

Francis sighed, covering his anguish with professional sympathy.

‘May I?’ he said, indicating the chair next to the bed. The Spine nodded, so he sat down, hat in his lap, and wondered what to tell him. ‘The doctors here,’ he began, gesturing around the ward, ‘the nurses, the corpsmen, all they do is try to save people’s lives faster than the war can take them away. They can’t bear to see more death. So when they come across someone like you,’ he smiled kindly at the still-confused expression on The Spine’s face plates, ‘someone who risks everything, even his life, to save someone else, they can’t help but care for him.’

‘But I failed!’ The Spine’s deep voice shook and he stared into Francis’s face with a very familiar wish burning somewhere deep in those human, electronic eyes. The wish for redemption. ‘He still died. They all still died.’

‘But you _tried_ ,’ Francis repeated and he reached out and took The Spine’s hand in his. ‘You did your very best. No one can, or should, ask more of you than that. And that includes you,’ he added seriously.

‘It wasn’t enough…’ The Spine’s eyes unfocused slightly. His gaze drifted across the blanket.

‘That’s true.’ Francis’s words were enough to call The Spine back and he blinked rapidly. ‘However,’ he went on, before the robot had time to misunderstand him, ‘that doesn’t make it your fault. We can’t change the limits of our abilities just because we want to or we need to. That’s no one’s fault, it’s just how God made us.’

‘God didn’t make me,’ The Spine muttered, eyes flicking away again. ‘The war did…’

‘If you were made by humans, doesn’t it make sense that you would have their limitations?’ Francis asked, pretending not to have heard that last bit. ‘We’re far from perfect, after all.’

‘I-I… I guess…’ The metal face plates pulled together in a frown as The Spine thought it over and Francis marvelled at the ingenuity of his creator. The man may not have been God, but he was surely a god among men. He hoped God would not take issue with that small piece of blasphemy. He tried for repentance but found he was not sorry. The robots were so wonderful, they were little short of a miracle.

‘And speaking of human imperfections,’ Francis went on, determined not to let The Spine wallow if he could help it, ‘I thought I’d bring you something to read. I find escaping into a good book can help with all kinds of problems.’ He reached into his inside pocket and pulled out the two slim volumes he had slipped inside.

At the guarded expression that had reappeared on The Spine’s face, he continued.

‘Don’t worry, I didn’t bring you a Bible. I didn’t think you’d be likely to want one, though if you do, of course I have some to spare. These are just some good stories that I enjoyed. There’s _Treasure Island_ or _Whose Body?_. Or I’ve got plenty of others in my tent if you—’

He stopped, because one of The Spine’s hands had gently drawn _Whose Body?_ Out of his grip, while the other was wiping oil out of his eyes.

‘I still don’t really understand why you’re doing this,’ he said, calmer now, despite the tears, ‘but thank you, F-Father Mulcahy. Sorry,’ he added. ‘It feels strange calling someone ‘Father’. We used to call him Pappy.’

He froze, one hand still raised to his face, and stared off into the distance again, not unfocused this time, but as if he were straining to see something very far away.

‘Who did you call Pappy?’ Francis asked, just managing to hide his excitement. Was The Spine’s memory beginning to return?

But The Spine dropped his hands and lowered his gaze to the cot with a sigh. Steam blew out of his mouth and drifted across the ward.

‘I don’t remember,’ he said heavily. ‘It’s like it’s there but it won’t come. Thank you for the book, Father.’

‘It was my pleasure,’ Francis said, taking the hint to leave. He shuffled out from between the beds and pushed open the doors that led into the rest of the hospital, restraining himself from looking back at the silver figure clutching his book.

‘Radar?’ he asked, poking his head around the office door.

Radar jumped and hid something behind his back.

‘Yes, Father?’ he said, eyes wide as though Francis had caught him with his hand in the cookie jar.

‘I was just wondering if you knew where Rabbit and The Jon were.’ He had done something for one part of the family, now it was time to do what he could for the other.

‘I think they’re still in the Swamp, sir,’ Radar said, swallowing.

‘Thank you.’ Francis smiled, put his hat back on and left the office, deliberately ignoring the way Radar shuffled round so that he couldn’t see what the corporal had behind his back.

He was really looking forward to the film tonight and he could think of two other people who could do with cheering up too. A Katherine Hepburn certainly wouldn’t solve Rabbit and The Jon’s problems, but if it would distract them for an hour or two, that was all he could ask.

Just as Rabbit had finally mustered the courage to pick up his pen again and finish the letter to Peter V, the door to the Swamp opened yet again and the small, round form of Radar emerged from the darkness.

‘Hi,’ said The Jon, waving at him. Then he turned to Rabbit and said, ‘Number four?’

‘Yup. I th-th-think so,’ Rabbit said wearily. Hawkeye, Trapper, Father Mulcahy all of ten minutes ago and now…

‘Erm,’ Radar began, fiddling with his clipboard, ‘I hope I’m not disturbing you, sirs, but they’re showing _Bringing Up Baby_ tonight and I’d really like to, you know, go and see it, but I’m tired of sitting on my own for the movies. So I was wondering if you’d like to come. There’ll be popcorn!’ he added.

For the first time in what felt like several years, Rabbit felt bubbles of laughter float up him from his core.

‘Number four!’ he crowed, dropping the pen and clutching his stomach as his bellows went into overdrive.

‘Number four!’ The Jon giggled. He sprang up, leapt across Hawkeye’s dirty washing and pulled Radar into a hug, rubbing his face against the clerk’s woollen cap.

At the sight of Radar struggling in The Jon’s vice-like clutches, Rabbit cackled even harder. He rolled backwards and Hawkeye’s bed, already tottering from having to support Rabbit’s weight for so long, gave a long, dying groan and collapsed.

_You’ll be glad to hear that I’ve broken something. ~~Yet again.~~_

_The Jon! I’m writing the letter!_

_But you’re always breaking things, Rabbit._

_My letter! My letter!_

_But you’re not supposed to break things, Rabbit!_

_It was a stupid bed anyway._

_But it wasn’t your bed._

_Hawkeye thought it was funny. Hah!_

‘Maybe we should stop arguing _on_ the letter,’ The Jon mused as they stared down at the scrawls that now decorated the bottom half of the paper.

‘N-nah,’ Rabbit said, waving his pen in dismissal. ‘Peter knows it’s only u-us. He likes it when we argue. He giggles.’ He stuck out his tongue thoughtfully, then carried on writing.

_I was laughing really hard because four people came by today to ask us if we wanted to go watch a movie tonight. At first, we said no, cos we’re kinda tired, but Radar was sweet when he asked us and we felt bad saying no so many times, so we said yes. We’re going to watch something about a baby and a leopard. Maybe a baby leopard? That would be cute…_

_Anyway, we’d better run cos the film starts soon and we want to get popcorn. It’s really fun to throw. Floats well, too._

_All the best and try to (not) behave yourself,_

_Your loving uncles,_

_Rabbit, The Spine & The Jon_


	11. Bears and Resolutions

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Several people expressed an interest in the playlist I've created to go along with War Machines, so I'm including a link here. The songs have nothing to do with each other except I liked them and thought they fitted with the story. There's a song or tune for each part of the story and I'll update it as the story progresses. How I think they fit in is in the description of the playlist. I hope you like it.
> 
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLRDEpR75vlNqbzTugZEuSjAlDldCiz5E8

‘You don’t mind doing that, right?’ Radar asked, peering into the friendly black eyes in front of him. ‘Cos I can’t help him but maybe you could?’

‘Radar?’ said Father Mulcahy’s soft voice.

Radar jumped and shoved his hands quickly behind his back.

‘Yes, Father?’ he said, staring at the priest and hoping he hadn’t spotted anything.

‘I was just wondering if you knew where Rabbit and The Jon were.’ Father Mulcahy smiled at him. He didn’t seem suspicious.

‘I think they’re still in the Swamp, sir,’ Radar said, swallowing.

‘Thank you,’ said Father Mulcahy, smiling again. He put his hat back on and walked through the office to the door. Radar had to shuffle around to make sure he didn’t see what he had behind his back.

Once the door had swung closed, he breathed a sigh of relief,

‘That was close,’ he said bringing his arms round in front of him again and looking down at his teddy bear. ‘Right. That’s settled then. But we’ll wait until later, when there’s not so many folks round.’ He lifted the thin pillow on his cot and tucked the bear underneath. ‘I’ll be back later,’ he whispered.

He walked back to his desk and picked up his clipboard. What else did he have to do this evening? Oh yeah, he had to check in with Supply and then fill in the requisition forms. And after that, he might go and ask Rabbit and The Jon if they wanted to watch _Bringing Up Baby_. It was no fun keeping on going by himself.

As he walked towards the door, it swung open. Major Freedman appeared. With the dark smears under his eyes and the boneless, slouching way he walked, he looked like a zombie from one of Radar’s comics.

Instead of being able to play poker last night, the major had gotten a call that one of his patients had taken a sudden turn for the worst. He had disappeared into Henry’s office and when Radar had woken up that morning, he looked through the window in the office door and seen the major still in there, telephone to his ear.

‘Could you get the hospital on the phone for me, Radar?’ he asked, leaning groggily against the door post and sighing. Worry lines criss-crossed his face, so many of them he looked like a crumpled paper bag wearing a moustache. ‘I’d better see how he’s doing.’

Radar nodded, already sitting at his desk and plugging in the lead.

‘Hello? Is that— Yeah, this is 4077th MASH. I’ve got Major Freedman here.’

He handed the receiver to the major and stood up from the seat. As the major sank down into it, he picked up his clipboard again and left the office as quietly as he could, his own forehead creased now. If the major was called back, then what would happen to The Spine? Maybe he’d never get his memory back.

That night, he trundled back from the movie, grinning. His hat had been stolen by The Jon and then Rabbit had nicked it from him and put it on over his bandana. He’d insisted on wearing it for the entire film. And they’d both thrown popcorn at Hawkeye and Trapper and then pointed at Radar when the doctors looked round. It had been a good night.

There was just one more thing he had to do before bed.

He went to his office and lifted his pillow. He pulled out his bear and bit his lip. Getting to sleep would be much harder without him, but… He pushed the door into the hospital quietly open, listening for any sound. He tiptoed into post op, the bear behind his back and waited until he saw Nurse Cutler sit down to do a feeding at the other end of the ward. He didn’t want her to see him. She would just laugh at him. Then he slid through the door, shuffled over to The Spine’s bed and looked down.

Good. He was asleep. Still sitting up, as apparently it was better for his boiler, but asleep. The silver faceplates twitched, as did the long fingers that curled over the edge of the blanket.

‘I hope you get better soon,’ Radar whispered, as quietly as he could, staring at the dent and scratches in the man’s plating and the black hole that showed above the green wool. ‘I brought you someone to help.’

He checked Nurse Cutler was still occupied, then sneaked another blanket from an empty bed and covered the robot with it, slipping the teddy bear under the layers. Then he crept back out of the ward and went to bed. It was the first night he’d ever slept without his bear, but it was worth it he could keep The Spine company.

‘Good morning.’

The robot looked up, one hand hastily stuffing the teddy bear down the side of the bed, half-expecting to see Major Burns glowering at him. It as his shift in post op and he had spent most of it either ignoring the robot or frowning at him as though he had offended him in some way. It was an attitude he was used to and he knew from experience that someone like Major Burns would not be happy to find him with the bear.

But it was Major Freedman standing there, thick dark circles under his eyes like smears of newspaper ink and his curly hair rumpled. He smiled tiredly at him.

‘What’s that?’

The robot didn’t say anything. The major seemed all right, but caution told him not to show the bear just yet. His nightmares had been as bad as usual last night, deafening him with the screams of the dying, choking him with the stench of blood and scorched iron and mud, until something had changed. They had faded, just a little, and the sense of something warm and comforting had hovered just out of sight. Had that been the bear? Could a toy do that?

When he didn’t reply, the psychiatrist continued as if he hadn’t seen anything of the bear at all.

‘I’m sorry I didn’t come to see you yesterday,’ he said. ‘I got a phone call about a patient of mine who suddenly had an emergency. Otherwise, I would have come to see you before this.’

‘That’s quite all right,’ the robot said. ‘If you still need sleep, we can talk later.’ The poor man looked exhausted.

Major Freedman’s smile broadened and his moustache twitched slightly.

‘That’s very kind of you, but I’d like to talk now, if you don’t mind?’

Major Freedman settled himself by the side of the bed, still smiling, reassuringly. ‘Now, before we talk, Lieutenant, I just want to reassure you that you can tell me anything, anything at all,’ he said. ‘That’s how this works. The more you trust me, the easier it is for me to help you and the sooner we can have you back on active duty.’

‘Yes,’ he said, because a response seemed to be required. But inside, he shivered. Active duty… He hadn’t considered what would happen to him after the hospital. There would be another unit, he supposed, another small group sent to hunt out the guerrillas. Or would they change things, send him out with the artillery, maybe? Either way, it meant more death.

_I don’t want to hurt anyone else._

That was why they wanted to fix him. So he could keep on hurting people, keep on killing them just because they were unlucky enough to be in front of him.

 _Did you expect anything else?_ said a voice in his ear.

_No… I don’t want to…_

_But you will do it._

‘Lieutenant?’

He blinked. Major Freedman was still sitting there, watching him.

‘Yes, sir?’ he said.

‘Can you tell me about what happened the other night?’

‘The other night?’ he asked. His thoughts were sluggish now, unwilling to break out of the loop they’d settled in to.

_I don’t want to. But you will. But I don’t want to. But you will._

Had he always thought in circles like that? Maybe he hadn’t always had the thunder and sobbing in his head. Everything was muddled, like his circuitry had been jumbled up, like he was wired wrong.

‘You met two other robots,’ the major reminded him gently, bringing him back to the present again. ‘I understand they were… disappointed when they met you.’

‘They want me to be someone I’m not,’ he said sharply, without meaning to. ‘I’m not their brother.’

‘And how did that make you feel?’ Major Freedman put his head on one side, his face calm, as though nothing the robot could say would shake him.

‘Angry,’ the robot admitted, biting the rubber of his bottom lip. ‘I know I shouldn’t have gotten angry with them, sir, but…’ He tailed off. What did it matter? He was going back to the front lines, back to the blood and the screams. What did it matter if he got angry with those two robots? He wasn’t like them, after all. He was more weapon than person.

‘But what?’ the major prompted, raising his eyebrows, inviting a response. Why did he care, if he was only here to patch the robot back together and push him back out into the battle?

_He said he could stop the noise._

_No,_ the voice corrected. _He only said he would do everything he could to get you ‘fighting fit’, remember?_

He let a small cloud of steam escape from between his lips.

‘When they looked at me, it was like it was my fault I’m not their brother,’ he said, voicing his earlier thought. ‘And _they_ have family. They have each other and this, this brother. And seeing them…’ He closed his eyes and swallowed hard.

He’d answer the major’s questions, because he was going back to the front lines, whether he liked it or not. He might as well get used to the idea, might as well get it over with as soon as possible. Might as well crush that tiny crystal of hope that had formed in his core that maybe, just maybe, he wouldn’t have to keep on fighting.

The major nodded slowly, professional sympathy in his face.

‘I couldn’t stand that look in their eyes,’ he admitted, the words slipping out before he could hold them back, ‘like they’re accusing me. It’s not my fault I’m not their brother. It’s not my fault I don’t have anyone.’

 _Except it is…_ _It_ is _your fault, isn’t it?_

Someone cried out, begging for their life as streaks of blue blew their chest apart.

 _You’ve killed so many,_ said the voice in his ear, his own voice. _And you’ll kill more. You don’t_ deserve _to have anyone. You don’t_ deserve _to have these people help you. Do you really think it’ll stop here?_

 _But_ why _do I have to do this? Why?_

The major was speaking again, but he didn’t bother listening. He was trying to remember why he had to keep fighting. It wasn’t because the army told him to.

He frowned, trying to reach down into that cavernous void, to pull something back up. It was important, the reason, very important. The gunfire roared into life again and a soldier sobbed as his life slipped between his hands. He _had_ to go on, had to obey orders, or something bad would happen. Someone would get hurt. Someone…

He lost his grip and the fragment of reasoning hurtled back down into the emptiness.

‘Lieutenant?’

Right. He had to pay attention now, because he _had_ to go back to the battle and it didn’t matter whether he wanted to or not. The screams in his head, the stabbing pain that had nothing to do with his injuries, they weren’t important. It was too late for him, anyway. He would carry on fighting.

Frank rubbed his tired face with a hand and squinted through the afternoon sun as MacIntyre at last came shambling out of the Swamp to take over on post op duty.

‘Evening, MacIntyre,’ he said, pointedly, looking ostentatiously at his watch. ‘Only a quarter of an hour late, I see.’

‘Drop dead, Frank,’ MacIntyre muttered, shoving roughly past. ‘Do us _and_ your patients a favour.’

‘Well, let’s hope your patients can hang on while you prise yourself out of that pit you call a bed,’ Frank snapped back.

‘They’d still have more chance than if you operated on ‘em, Frank,’ MacIntyre said, turning inside the ward to smirk at Frank. Once again, he looked as if he’d dressed in the dark. His uniform was creased, it was untucked at the waist and if it was clean then Frank was a box of mushrooms. Didn’t the man have _any_ pride? ‘Now, did anything happen last night? Anything I need to know?’

‘Just keep your eye on that pilot, Haversham,’ Frank said, letting the professional slur pass because he wanted out of the ward as soon as possible. He walked MacIntyre passed the empty beds to the one next to the robot, which sat on its cot like a regular person, steaming the way a man might smoke a cigarette. He tried not to look at it and turned his attention back to the pilot.

‘His temperature went up during the day,’ he explained, noting with satisfaction the look of worry on MacIntyre’s face. MacIntyre might have operated on the man, but it was Frank who had spotted the signs of an infection. ‘I’ve started him on penicillin.’

‘Good,’ MacIntyre said, absently, scanning Haversham’s chart. ‘Thanks, Frank.’

Frank blinked. ‘Well, just doing my job,’ he said, smiling. MacIntyre wasn’t all bad, he supposed. ‘See you later.’

As he turned, he noticed something out of the corner of his eye. He stared at it and the memory of Trapper actually being polite to him for once vanished.

A teddy bear. It was holding a _teddy bear_! Head on one side, a slight frown on those eerie, silver features, it had both hands wrapped around the bear and was gazing at it.

‘Where did you get that?’ Frank barked, striding to the end of the robot’s cot. It slept with a _teddy bear_? It was as bad as Corporal O’Reilly, but at least O’Reilly was human. A childish human, but still human. Could a robot really be that human? And why hadn’t he spotted the bear sooner?

The robot twitched and jerked its head up.

‘I don’t know, sir!’ it said, eyes widening. At least it showed proper respect to an officer, unlike certain others he could name. ‘I found it when I woke up earlier. I’m sorry, sir,’ it added.

 _Hang on_ , he thought. _I’ve seen that bear before… Corporal O’Reilly…_

‘Give it to me,’ he said, walking round the bed and holding out a hand, mindful not to get too close. It was bad enough O’Reilly had been allowed to keep the toy – how would he ever become a real man if he didn’t grow up? – but now the corporal was spreading his own weakness around. Frank wasn’t going to let that happen.

‘Sir?’ The fingers flexed around the toy, bringing it closer to the robot’s chest.

‘I _said_ , give it to me,’ Frank repeated. ‘You’re a _machine_ , a soldier. You can’t behave like a child.’ _Or like a human_ , he nearly added, but the green eyes pierced his own, glowing brighter, and a shudder ran right down Frank’s back. He fell silent. Then they dimmed and the robot looked away.

‘Yes, sir,’ he said and handed the bear over meekly.

Frank took it, trying not to look at the long arm that had stretched out, so skeletal with its missing plates and exposed wiring, a horrible parody of the human body.

‘Frank, whadda you think you’re doing?’

‘This is none of your concern, MacIntyre,’ Frank said smoothly, turning away from the robot. He made to walk past MacIntyre, but the other doctor blocked his path.

‘You’re confiscating teddy bears now?’ he asked, eyebrows raised. ‘Tell you what, Frank, why don’t you get yourself round to the orphanage and steal all their candy?’

‘Hey!’ Heat surged up from Frank’s chest. How _dare_ MacIntyre, when he was just trying to do his bit to help them win, help their soldiers get _stronger_ , not weaker? ‘This is a war zone, not a nursery! We have to keep discipline. We’re here to get our soldiers back to the fight, not to coddle cowards. If we start letting them act like children, we’ll be weak against the enemy.’

MacIntyre made a grab for the teddy bear but Frank ducked round him and stormed up the ward. As he went, he could hear MacIntyre, the sentimental fool, apologising to the robot, still treating him like a sickly infant instead of a soldier.

‘Sorry about that. We’ll get it back for you.’

Frank snorted as he strode out into the sun. MacIntyre could promise what he liked. The robot certainly wasn’t getting the teddy bear back and neither was Corporal O’Reilly, not if Frank had anything to do with it. It was yet another sign of the inefficiency and ill-discipline that infested this place and it was about time he did something about it.

 _That robot…_ Why were MacIntyre and Pierce and even _Margaret_ fawning over it so much? Instead of getting in a mechanic to fix him, all they had done was to send for Sidney Freedman and what good would that do? And why was Henry letting them get away with it? Apart from the fact that he was weak and ineffectual, of course.

No, Frank was going to have to take things into his own hands. First he would put the bear in his tent, where he could keep an eye on it, and then he would go and check Corporal O’Reilly’s reports. He had a shrewd suspicion that the arrival of such valuable military property as the robot had not been properly reported. If that was true, then he knew just what to do about it.

‘Sorry about that. We’ll get it back for you.’

‘It doesn’t matter,’ the robot said. It was probably for the best. It was easier to resign himself to going back to the fight if the bear’s round black eyes weren’t staring at him, asking him why.

‘Hey, you didn’t put on the uniform I left you.’

The robot glanced round at it, then back at Trapper. The major had just left and the doctor had come over to check on him again.

‘I…’ he began, then tailed off. His core temperature increased, shame burning its way up his insides. He swallowed and tried again. ‘I can’t put it on. I tried, but movement is… hard.’ That was an understatement. The pain and stiffness he had felt when he first woke up had not been eased by the oil they’d given him. He could reach the bedside table and he could just about sit up and lie down if he wanted to. Anything else sent electric agony running through all his wires, sparking and crackling every time it hit a loose connection. He had more loose connections in his body now than he had normal ones.

‘Do you want some help with it?’ Trapper asked.

The robot opened his mouth to give a polite refusal, but the doctor carried on.

‘It can’t be very comfortable without anything on,’ he said, gently.

The robot hesitated, then nodded slowly. He didn’t want the doctor to touch him; just the thought of it made his core hum in his chest, increasing its power output to fend off the attack he instinctively suspected. But the man was right. There was only the blanket between the rest of the world and his own broken body, gears and wiring in plain sight, exposed, vulnerable.

‘Okay,’ Trapper said, unhooking the fatigues from the end of the bed. ‘We’ll start with the shirt?’

He nodded again, extending his arms and gritting his teeth as his joints groaned. Trapper eased the sleeves up his arms, without actually touching him. The fabric settled on his shoulders and he brought his hands in front of him again to do up the buttons. His fingers slipped on the little discs and he bit his lip. He had once been so dexterous. The hands that had once plucked out loving melodies on a guitar’s strings now fumbled over a simple set of buttons.

_Guitar?_

‘Are you all right?’

A hand touched him on the shoulder and he jumped, hands raising automatically in defence.

‘Woah,’ Trapper said, holding up his own hands. ‘It’s all right. You just spaced out on me there. I was worried.’

‘It’s nothing,’ he said. The thought that had flitted through his neuro-processors had gone, vanished back into that emptiness that filled him whenever he tried to think about life outside the army.

‘You want me to do the buttons?’ Trapper offered. ‘There was quite a lot of damage to your hands and I don’t think we managed to replace all the wires. It’ll get better when we do.’

‘Thank you,’ the robot said, shoulders dropping and his core quietening in relief at the doctor’s words. Then he shook himself. It didn’t matter if his hands weren’t in perfect order. As long as he could hold a gun and pull a trigger, he didn’t need to do anything else with them.

Trapper leaned towards him and the robot closed his eyes, holding himself as still as possible. But the doctor barely touched him and in no time at all, the buttons were done.

‘I don’t know what we do about your… fins, or whatever they are, though,’ Trapper mused, nodding toward the robot’s back. ‘They’ll rip the shirt and you’ll be back to square one.’

‘I just won’t put them out,’ the robot said. He shrugged, casually, then wished he hadn’t. Something inside his left shoulder stretched and then went horribly slack as a connection sparked out of existence with a flash of agony.

Trapper frowned. ‘Are you sure about that?’ he asked. ‘Aren’t they­­—’

‘Sirs!’ came a voice from outside the ward. It was the small, round corporal the robot often saw hurrying through the hospital. He had a strange name, what was it? _Radar! That’s it. Odd name for a human_ , he thought. _Almost like a robot’s name_.

Was that true, he wondered, as Trapper straightened up and looked around at the clerk bouncing into the hospital, was it like a robot’s name? Was it like _his_ name?

‘Sirs!’ Radar said again and the robot’s eyes snapped to him as he realised the corporal was addressing _him_ too. How many people had ever called him _sir_? He might be a lieutenant, but most of the men in his unit thought— _had_ thought that he ranked below them just by virtue of being a machine. Toby hadn’t been like that, of course. _Toby_ had called him sir.

‘What is it, Radar?’ Trapper asked, raising an eyebrow at the clerk’s exuberance. He positively vibrated with excitement, his glasses misting up and his clipboard quivering.

‘A truck just pulled up outside, sirs,’ he said, beaming. ‘It’s got the supplies in it we need to fix you, sir.’ He nodded at the robot.

‘Hey, that’s great news,’ Trapper said, grinning too.

‘Yeah…’ the robot said, quietly, blinking. Somehow, he hadn’t thought about being repaired. He’d been so wrapped up in his agony, he hadn’t thought that some of it might stop. He frowned slightly. Would he feel better if his body were no longer damaged, or would the gunfire cracking in his head hurt all the more?

‘We didn’t have much of a clue what we were doing last time,’ Trapper said, turning back to him. ‘Had to assume everything was kind of the same as in a human. But now Rabbit and The Jon are—’

‘No.’

Trapper gazed at him in surprise and the smile fell right off Radar’s face this time.

He had known what they were going to suggest. That those two other robots, Rabbit and The Jon, help repair him. No, _no_. He couldn’t bear the thought of seeing them again, seeing that hurt in their eyes, seeing everything he didn’t have.

‘But they can help you,’ Trapper was saying. ‘You might not get along, but you’re pretty badly hurt, buddy. You need all the help you can get.’

‘I know how to repair myself,’ he said, eyes skittering away from Trapper’s. He stared past the man’s arms instead. ‘I can’t do it myself, but I can tell you what to do.’

Trapper raised his eyebrows, nausea flitting across his face.

‘You wanna be awake when we’re doing major surgery on you? We helped repair Rabbit once, but we didn’t have to take half his guts out and put them back in.’

Radar blanched and gulped hard.

‘Won’t it hurt?’ he said, looking as though he’d really rather not know the answer.

‘I’ll be fine,’ the robot said.

‘Hey,’ Trapper said, jabbing a finger at him, ‘I’m your doctor and I say you need to be asleep while we’re doing this. How’re you gonna help if you’re writhing in agony? And don’t give me any stuff about not being human and not feeling pain. I know damn well you can. Besides,’ he carried on, before the robot could even form a protest. ‘I’m a captain, you’re a lieutenant and I’m ordering you to turn your power off, or whatever it is you do, while we’re working on you.’

‘No!’ The word shot from his mouth before he could stop it, echoing around the ward. He shivered in the deathly silence that followed. ‘I-I—’ _He’d just shouted at a superior officer._ ‘I’m sorry, sir,’ he said hastily. ‘I’m really sorry. It’s just that—’ He froze, gears spinning and electricity racing through his brain as he tried to think of a plausible excuse. ‘There are some parts of me only I know how to fix,’ he finished. That wasn’t the reason he didn’t want those other robots near him, but it was true. With all those upgrades, there was no one else but him who could make sure he was fully repaired.

Trapper sighed and sat down next to the bed.

‘All right,’ he said, eyes narrowing as if he’d just remembered something, ‘all right. And I’m sorry, too. I shouldn’t have ordered you to do that.’

His brown eyes stared right through the robot, through the new fatigues and the battered steel plating, right to the swirling blue heat of his core. How? How could this human doctor understand what he felt, suddenly realise what being ordered to do that meant?

‘Erm, sir?’ Radar’s voice, higher than normal, trembled slightly. ‘Colonel Blake said that we should get you fixed right away, cos we’re probably gonna have casualties again soon.’

‘Yeah…’ Trapper rubbed his unshaven jaw. ‘He’s right.’ He trained his gaze on the robot again. ‘Wish I could give you more time, but think you’re up to do it today? We get another batch of wounded in, we’re gonna need all the beds and all the hands we can get.’

‘Of course.’ He couldn’t take up a bed when a human needed it. And maybe he could help! Maybe he could save life, for once, instead of taking it.

‘Okay,’ Trapper said, standing up. ‘Radar, go and drag Hawk out of bed. And get one of the nurses to assist. Ask Ginger. She’ll do it. And then round up Klinger and get him to help you shift the supplies into the OR. Oh, and Radar?’ he added, just before the corporal hurried away. ‘I’m afraid Frank confiscated the bear, but don’t worry. Hawk and I’ll get it back from him.’

Frank checked right and left to make sure he wasn’t being observed, then hurried out of Henry’s office, past Radar’s desk and into the compound. He strode briskly towards the Swamp, unable to stop a smile from spreading across his face.

He had been right. The last reports made no mention of the robot that was even now sitting in post op as if it were an actual patient. No one had told HQ that a valuable, probably secret, piece of military equipment was here.

He chuckled to himself. Once General Clayton found out about this, Pierce and MacIntyre were _really_ going to be in for it. They wouldn’t be able to get away with it this time. And once they were shipped out, hopefully to a military prison, there would be no more backchat in the OR, no more snide comments about his abilities as a doctor. And no more silver nitrate in his underpants.

Something gold glinted in front of him and he looked up just in time to avoid crashing into the slim brass robot. Jon, was it? He glared at it for being in his way.

‘Sorry, Major,’ the robot said, politely. ‘I didn’t hurt you, did I?’

Frank blinked, not used to people, even the enlisted men, being so courteous towards him.

‘No,’ he said eventually. ‘I should have been looking where I was going.’ He had been distracted after all. And they hadn’t actually collided, so there was no harm done.

‘I wasn’t paying attention,’ Jon admitted, staring over Frank’s shoulder at the hospital. ‘I was thinking about…’ He stopped, glanced at Frank’s face and then said, ‘I’m sorry, sir. It doesn’t matter.’ He quickly dropped his gaze again.

Frank hovered, somehow unable to just walk away. With any normal enlisted man, he would have delivered a sharp dressing-down and then dismissed the soldier, but Jon had apologised before he’d even said anything. His nose twitched as he tried to think of something to break the awkward silence that had sprung up between them.

‘Did you finish writing that letter?’ he asked, out of pure desperation. Then he frowned to himself. _What made me ask that? Why do I care what these machines do in their spare time, as long as they’re not around me?_

The brass plates in front of him spread in a smile and the robot’s blue eyes glowed.

‘Yes, thank you, sir,’ he said. ‘Little Peter’ll be really happy to get it. It helped us too.’

Was he actually happy? Machines couldn’t feel emotions, surely. But then, what would be the point of imitating them so well?

‘Anyway, I should go, sir,’ the robot said, shuffling his feet. ‘If that’s all right. I need to get the oil for me and Rabbit.’

‘Yes, of course,’ Frank said and watched as Jon saluted and then scurried away across the camp towards Supply.

Then he shook his head and opened the door to the Swamp. For once, he barely glanced at the dirty linen, the gin mill and the nudist magazines that littered two-thirds of the tent, instead retreating to his own neat part and sitting down on his cot. What had he been coming back here to do? Ah, yes, the letter to General Clayton.

He moved to the chair by his desk and fitted some paper into his typewriter. Then he paused, fingers hovering over the keys, wondering how to begin.

Unbidden, the image of Jon’s golden features smiling rose again in his mind, followed by the look of despair in the mismatched eyes of that copper one, Rabbit. Finally, he saw the tall, silver frame of the robot in OR, twitching as it slept. Did he really have to tell General Clayton..?

 _Yes._ He nodded vigorously to himself, hoping to dislodge that treacherous notion. An army was only as strong as its weakest member. _Of course_ he had to report this. It was his duty. If the army lost this war, it was _not_ going to be because Major Frank Burns hadn’t done his utmost to see them win.

He set his jaw and began to type.

_Major F. Burns_

_4077th MASH_

_Dear General Clayton,_

_I have vital military intelligence for you which, I am afraid, other members of this unit have seen fit to keep from you…_


	12. In the Bushes

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally back! Thank you for being so patient with me. As I mentioned in the comments, I'm having to slow down at the moment because of work. We're not too far from the end though, so it's all good.
> 
> I've added the next tune to the War Machines playlist. This one begins at the end of this chapter and carries over into Chapter 13...  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLRDEpR75vlNqbzTugZEuSjAlDldCiz5E8
> 
> Enjoy...

Chapter 12 – In the Bushes

Max Klinger smoothed a wrinkle out of his skirt and brushed a speck of dirt off the toe of his court shoes. Then he sighed. Why did he even bother? The clouds had just come over again and it would probably start raining before he’d got halfway to the mess tent. Still, losing a shoe to the tar pit that was the compound was preferable to sitting here all evening with an empty stomach. Just.

He pushed the door of his tent open and set off, glancing up at the darkening sky to see if he could guess when the rain would start. If he was lucky, he might avoid it.

Something flickered in the corner of his eye and he whipped round, staring at the bushes that lined the camp. They were nothing but dark, prickly silhouettes, but he could have sworn he had seen something move. A shape, black on black.

But there was nothing there now.

 _Just getting twitchy_ , he told himself. _Too much time in this damned army. I’ve gotta think of some way of getting out…_

His head buzzing with desperate schemes to get him sent home, he resumed his trudge towards the mess tent, just as the heavens opened.

Sidney stared into the murky black sludge that was masquerading as coffee, as though he was a fortune-teller staring into a crystal ball. The talk and laughter going on around him was distant, removed, a meaningless hum. He drummed his fingers slowly on the table, a counterpoint to the chatter.

 _What is it?_ he thought for the hundredth time. _I’ve missed something, I know I have. But what_ is _it?_

The Spine… At first, he’d thought that the fear, the sounds in his head and the memory loss were just the result of battle fatigue, but now he wasn’t sure. It didn’t seem that simple. Their talk earlier had been good, the patient had seemed resolved to recover and return to duty, which was always reassuring, except…

_Except what?_

He dug his forehead into the palm of his hand. Something had been off. Something had changed since the first time he had talked with the man.

A couple of days ago, desperation had shone in those dim eyes, begging him to help. Today, however, it had vanished. All he’d seen was a calm acceptance.

 _Acceptance of_ what _?_

There had been a few moments, right at the beginning of their talk, when The Spine’s attention had wandered. Sidney strained to recall the details, the eyes, the face, the hands.

Pain. There had been pain there. And a curious kind of focus, as though he had been listening to someone else speaking. Or the auditory hallucinations had come back again. That was most likely.

And after that, he had payed attention, answering Sidney’s questions honestly, but… Was it Sidney’s imagination, or had the robot been more reserved, more withdrawn, less open to the procedure than last time? Maybe, but what he really needed to know was _why_.

He picked up the mug and took a mouthful of cold, congealing coffee that tasted like brake fluid. It didn’t help.

The door beside him was pulled open and Corporal Klinger staggered in. The whole tent looked round, then burst out laughing. The man was completely drenched, his sheer blouse plastered to his hairy chest and his stockings splattered with mud. Rain blew in behind him, soaking Sidney’s shoulder.

‘Evening, Klinger,’ Sidney said, grinning, glad of the distraction from his own concerns. ‘Have a good swim?’

‘Yeah,’ Klinger said, stomping inside and flinging himself into the seat opposite Sidney with a squelch, ‘terrific, Major. You know, if you’d let me go home, I wouldn’t have got nearly drowned out there.’

‘Sorry, Klinger,’ Sidney said, shaking his head, as the buzz of conversation swelled around them once more. He lifted the mug to his mouth, then remembered the taste of the coffee and thought better of it. ‘I’ve got patients far crazier than you. The fact that you want out so badly is probably the best proof that you’re sane.’

‘Great,’ Klinger muttered, taking off a soiled heel and dumping the water out of it. ‘Isn’t there anything you can do?’

‘Nope.’ Was that a little harsh? ‘I’m here to get The Spine back to normal. If nothing’s changed, Klinger, I can’t really justify examining you or anything.’

Klinger’s craggy face softened at the mention of the robot. ‘Nah, that’s okay. How’s he doing, doc?’

Sidney shrugged. ‘I’m not sure. There’s something I’m missing and I can’t tell what it is.’

Klinger wiped out the inside of his shoe with the edge of his skirt. ‘Ask him?’ he suggested.

‘I can’t. Hawkeye and Trapper are currently soldering him back together. Besides,’ he added, feeling the burden settle on his shoulders again, ‘I’m not sure what questions to ask, or if he’ll even know the answers.’

They both fell silent for a moment, Sidney turning his gaze back to the fathomless depths of his cup.

Klinger put his shoe back on, switched legs and tugged off the other heel.

‘You’ll work it out,’ Klinger said, reassuringly. ‘You know, my ma always told me that when I didn’t understand something, I should go back to the very beginning, go back to basics. Worked for me. Well, most of the time,’ he added, smiling to himself.

 _I thought I had gone back to the beginning,_ Sidney thought, staring through Klinger to the coffee machines on the other side of the tent. _Or did I?_

He had gone back to his first conversation with The Spine, but that wasn’t where it had started, was it? He needed to go through everything that had happened, everything that everyone had done or said since Rabbit and The Jon had turned up at the 4077th.

‘Thanks, Klinger,’ he said, raising his mug and downing the coffee. ‘Tell your ma I’ll take her advice.’

‘I’d rather tell her I’m coming home, Major,’ the corporal said, getting to his feet and casting his eye towards the queue for food.

Sidney grinned again. ‘You never give up, do you, Klinger?’

‘Nope, not ‘til I’m outta the army, sir.’

‘Pliers,’

Ginger passed them to him and Hawkeye connected up the new piece of wire that Trapper was holding in place with a pair of insulated gloves.

‘How’s that?’ he asked The Spine, frowning at the pain lines that still creased the metal faceplates below him.

The Spine opened and closed his fingers, then tested the movement of each one individually.

‘That’s perfect,’ he said, a sigh of steam issuing from his mouth. ‘Thank you.’

He made to get up from the gurney but Hawkeye put out an oil-stained hand to restrain him.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ he asked, raising his eyebrows.

‘I’m operational again,’ The Spine said, blinking.

‘Oh, really?’ Trapper asked. ‘Aren’t you forgetting something?’

The Spine looked innocent. ‘No.’

‘What about your cooling fins?’ Hawkeye raised his eyebrows.

Half an hour before, while they were replacing the oil lines in his legs, the fins had got stuck when The Spine had tried to put them out.

‘Well,’ The Spine began, ‘I’m repaired enough—’

‘Don’t be ridiculous, honey,’ Ginger put in, staring sternly at him. ‘While you’re still wounded, you ain’t moving from this table.’

‘But—’

‘But nothing,’ Hawkeye said. ‘Turn over, go on.’

‘You can’t.’ The Spine’s voice was suddenly low, desperate.

Hawkeye frowned again. ‘Why not?’

The Spine chewed on his black rubber lip, then sighed again and said,

‘Because of my upgrades.’

Hawk and Trapper looked at each other. Hadn’t Rabbit and The Jon mentioned something about ‘upgrades’ the first time they were here?

‘What kind of upgrades?’ Trapper asked, his forehead creasing too.

The Spine hesitated.

‘Come on,’ Hawkeye said, giving him an inviting smile. ‘We doctors’re good at keeping secrets. Patient confidentiality and all that.’

The robot closed his eyes for a moment, then nodded. The tension leaked from his body, just as oil had done an hour before, and there were little _clinks_ as his hands slid down his sides to the table.

‘The army gave me upgrades, secret ones,’ he said, opening his eyes again and staring blankly at the ceiling. ‘Only a few people were supposed to know. General Murdock, the captain of my unit—’ who was dead now, Hawkeye suddenly remembered ‘—and a couple of others in command. Most of the upgrades were in my spine. They replaced my smokestacks with these fins and vents. They’re not secret, but… Well, I can’t tell you what else they did.’ Worry shivered across his face. ‘If you try to fix my fins, then you’ll see all the other upgrades. I can’t let that happen. They won’t…’

His eyes widened, then darted around, as if expecting this General Murdock to loom out of the shadows.

‘Actually,’ he said, frowning, ‘how come they haven’t turned up yet? I’ve been here a week. Guess I wasn’t thinking straight, should’ve thought about it before…’

‘We bought ourselves some time there,’ Hawkeye said, looking back down at The Spine and giving him a wicked grin. ‘Your file met with an accident.’

‘Yeah, someone mistook it for toilet paper,’ Trapper chimed in, smirking. He and Hawk exchanged another look. ‘They’ll work it out sooner or later. You’re a pretty tough guy to hide, after all. But Murdock ain’t gonna come for you just yet.’

‘So no one’s gonna know if we see your upgrades,’ Hawk carried on. ‘Besides, we’re doctors, not engineers. We won’t understand anything we see.’

For a moment, The Spine simply stared at them. Then he shifted, wincing as something in his back grated audibly.

‘All right,’ he said, the tiniest of smiles pulling at his mouth as he rolled himself over. ‘If you promise not to say anything about it. From the feel of it, I think it’s just a filing job, but you’re gonna have to take bits out to get at them properly. You see that yellow access panel..?’

Frank twitched his nose, listening to the rain drumming on the roof of the tent. Then he drummed his fingers on his knee. Then he picked up the completed letter, folded it and slid it into its envelope. He picked up his pen and addressed it to General Clayton. He put the pen down, sealed the envelope… and paused.

This letter would no doubt bring General Clayton straight down to the camp, demanding to know why the presence of the robot had not been reported and probably falling over himself to thank Frank for having so stoically done his duty.

So why was he hesitating?

_Our Pa— our creator’s great-grandson is in an orphanage. We’re writing to him, to cheer him up. It cheers us up too. We miss him._

His fingers tapped on the paper, then twitched harder, slapping the envelope against his other hand. Then he dropped it back on to the desk and got up from his chair.

He was doing the right thing, he _was_.

He stalked through the tent, glaring at the still in the corner and skirting piles of dirty laundry. He sat down on his cot, pulled his Bible off his shelf and tried to read.

_And from that time he sought an opportunity to betray Him…_

Frank’s fingers clenched around the cover and he let the book fall onto the pillow in disgust. It was _not_ betrayal! Who was going to be hurt if he told General Clayton what the man should already have been told?

Unbidden, an image swam through his mind, of the silver robot being taken into the OR as he went through the hospital, searching for Margaret. Of the gaping holes in his side, crusted with congealed oil like dried blood, of the frayed wires that poked through the holes like exposed nerves. Of The Spine’s twisted, pained face as the movement jolted his battered form.

Heaving a sigh, Frank got up again, crossed back to his desk and picked the envelope up, staring at it.

Sending it should be the right thing to do, so why was a small part of him whispering that it wasn’t?

His fingers tensed, gripping the paper tighter, and—

‘Choppers!’

O’Reilly’s call cut through the sodden evening air and Frank’s head snapped up as the corporal burst into the tent.

‘Choppers, sir!’ he panted.

‘I heard, corporal,’ Frank snapped, leaping up from the cot, the letter still in his hand.

‘Yes, sir.’ O’Reilly glanced down, away from Frank’s face. ‘Oh, is that a letter, sir?’

‘Hm? Yes!’ Frank glared down at the scrap of paper. ‘Of course it’s a letter.’

‘I’ll put it in the mail bag for you, sir,’ O’Reilly said, plucking from Frank’s hand and turning to leave.

Frank opened his mouth to protest, then shut it again.

He stayed silent as he followed O’Reilly out into the downpour, breaking into a run as the noise of the chopper blades grew, reminding him of what was going on, why they were there.

 _It’s not my fault now_ , he thought, as he dashed around the Swamp to the hospital. _O’Reilly’s sending the letter, not me. It needs to be done… but I’m not the one doing it._

Klinger slammed his foot into the brake and drew the jeep up just outside of the hospital. He vaulted out his seat, splattering his already-soaked stockings in mud, and turned to help with the stretcher.

‘Shrapnel to the chest,’ Henry said, clambering off the back of the jeep. ‘Prep him and get him through to Pierce right away.’

Klinger and the other orderly both hefted one end of the stretcher and clattered in to the hospital, heading straight for pre op, where Nurse Cutler was waiting, then on into the OR. They lifted the soldier onto Pierce’s table and then turned to leave, to fetch the next patient, and nearly collided with someone in the corridor.

‘Watch it!’ Klinger said. Then he froze, tilting his head back to see who the tall figure was. ‘Hey!’ His face split into a wide grin. ‘You’re up! You’re real tall, too.’

‘Yeah, thanks to your doctors,’ The Spine said, smiling, clothed in fresh fatigues. ‘How can I help?’

‘Oh, right!’ Klinger said, remembering again what he was supposed to be doing. ‘Come with me. We need to bring the patients in. If you’re sure you’re well enough to help?’ He cast a suspicious look back at the robot, wondering if he was playing down his injuries.

‘I’m sure,’ said the deep voice, smooth and confident. Then it wobbled for a second. ‘I need— I want to help.’

‘Sure.’ Klinger led the way back outside, passing more groaning, bloodied men being ferried in on stretchers. They couldn’t afford to turn any help away, he thought, as the sounds of yet more choppers echoed off the mountains.

He ran up the track to the pad, heels slipping in the gritty mud, The Spine splashing behind him.

He stopped, so suddenly the robot nearly cannoned into him.

‘What is it?’ The Spine asked.

Klinger shook his head. His eyes must be playing tricks on him. Out there, in the darkness, where the camp gave way to scrubby bushes, he’d thought he’d seen someone running, running in the wrong direction. Not towards the pad or the hospital, but away.

‘Nothing,’ he said, carrying on. How on earth could he have seen anything in this darkness? He was just jumpy, like he had been earlier. His mind was playing tricks on him. He had to snap out of it, concentrate. They had work to do.

‘Spine! You’re b-better!’ The Jon cried when he saw his brother walk up on to the helicopter pad, so delighted he stammered just like Rabbit.

But his delight died the next second when The Spine frowned and turned away from him. He headed for the other chopper that had landed, muttering,

‘I’m not The Spine…’

The Jon swallowed the oil that was clogging his throat and blinked away the thick black tears that threatened to fall. He didn’t want Rabbit to see. He had to go on being the strong one, so Rabbit didn’t have to be.

‘He-he’s walking around,’ said Rabbit’s voice from behind him as they lifted a stretcher. ‘They f-f-fixed him, like they said they would.’ His voice wobbled. ‘M-most of him, anyway…’

‘Come on, Rabbit.’ The Jon urged his brother forward. ‘We need to go.’

They loaded their patient onto the idling jeep and The Jon drove it down to the hospital. Then they went back again, and again, until the wounded soldiers blurred into each other and they seemed to be forever carrying the same man down from the choppers.

‘It’ll be all right,’ The Jon kept muttering to Rabbit, hoping to convince him. But it was hard, when he couldn’t convince himself. Where was The Spine when they needed him, when they needed him to talk to them, steady them as he’d done so many times before? On the night before battle, during the crashing of the gunfire, while someone’s life ran out between their fingers, his calm, solid presence had been there to lift them up. Without even the promise of it, they stumbled.

 _He doesn’t even want to talk to us…_ The Jon thought as they trudged out of the hospital, having finally delivered the last chopper patient. The Spine walked straight past them, out into the compound to meet the ambulances that had come growling into camp, and he hadn’t even turned his head to look at them.

 _He’s in so much pain, but he won’t share it._ The Jon could see it in every line of The Spine’s body, even though that body was different now, smokestacks gone, replaced by fins like huge shrapnel fragments. He could sense it, feel the agony his brother was in, but every time he tried to catch The Spine’s eye, The Spine looked away.

His brother was _hurting_ and there was nothing he could do to help.

‘He’s gotta r-r-r-r-r-remember soo-oon,’ Rabbit said under his breath, shivering in the warm rain. ‘Colonel M-Macy’s gonna order us b-back. What if he hasn’t remembered by th-then?’

‘He will,’ The Jon said as they, too, hurried out the ambulance. ‘It’ll be all right,’ he said, for the hundredth time that night. He couldn’t let Rabbit give up hope. The Spine wouldn’t have let it happen, so neither could he. He was Big Brother now. Had to remember that.

More stretchers passed under their hands, more bodies, some writhing and crying, some still and silent.

And then they were walking back out into the compound to see Klinger and The Spine bringing in the last patient, the ambulance finally empty. For a few moments, they could pause, before going back into pre op to do whatever they could.

The Jon gazed after the tall, stiff-backed from of his brother and saw Radar emerge from the hospital. He watched dully as the corporal picked his way through the churned-up mud.

‘You guys okay?’ Radar said, peering anxiously through his smeared glasses as he came up to them.

‘F-fine,’ Rabbit said, so quietly he could barely be heard.

‘Listen,’ Radar said. ‘The Spine’ll remember, I’m sure he will. ‘Cos the doctors here, they won’t stop until he’s fixed. You know, all of ‘im. They won’t give up.’ He offered them an encouraging smile and The Jon gave him one in return.

He patted the corporal lightly on the shoulder.

‘Thanks, Radar,’ he said. ‘I just wish we could help.’ _But how can we,_ he added to himself, _if he won’t even look at us?_

‘Well, maybe he doesn’t have to look at you,’ Radar said and The Jon blinked. How _could_ a human read minds like that?

‘What I mean is,’ the corporal carried on, ‘you guys are a band, right? And he’s in the band too, isn’t he?’

‘Y-yeah…’ Rabbit leaned forward until his copper noseplate was an inch away from Radar’s glasses. The Jon leant forward too, staring at Radar’s forehead, hoping to understand what was going on in the brain behind those glasses.

Radar’s eyes widened as the two robots zoomed in.

‘Er…’ he mumbled. ‘Well, I just thought that if you played some of your music, or sang, or something, maybe he might join in or remember something…’

The Jon continued to stare at him for a moment. Then his mouth turned upwards in a huge grin and he started to chuckle, just as Rabbit burst into his wild, cackling laughter.

‘Jelly brains!’ The Jon crowed to the night sky.

‘Whaat?’ Radar asked, backing away.

‘We’re j-j-jelly b-brains,’ Rabbit explained, tapping his forehead. ‘We didn’t think of that! We’re i-i-idiots.’

‘Nah, not idiots,’ Radar said, grinning himself. ‘You guys were just distracted. Oh!’ He clapped a hand to his mouth. ‘I forgot! I’m supposed to be getting more hydrocortisone from Supply!’ He glanced down at his clipboard, picked an envelope off of it and gulped. ‘And this letter Major Burns gave to me to post. It’s to General Clayton! I’d better make sure it gets mailed, right away. I don’t wanna be the one answering to the General for not sending off an important letter because he didn’t when he should have.’ He shivered.

‘Thanks, Radar,’ The Jon said, giving him a quick hug. ‘Come on, Rabbit.’

They left Radar to his errands and trotted back into the hospital, hope burning blue in their cores once more.

The soldier gasped as the robot bent over him, the familiar mixture of surprise and fear written across his face. But then it was all wiped away by pain as his injuries made themselves known.

‘Lie still,’ the robot said, cutting away the blood-drenched fatigues from the deep gash in the man’s arm. ‘Don’t worry. We’ll put you right.’

He had been working for hours, but even so, wielding the snips still sent surges of relief washing out from his core. _He could use his fingers again_. And his legs, as he lowered himself to one knee so that he could get a closer look at the wound, he could use them again too. The pain that had been his constant companion for so long, even before he had arrived at the 4077th, had at last left him. The physical pain, anyway.

‘Am I gonna lose my arm?’ the soldier whispered. His face was white, drawn, creased in fear of the answer.

‘No,’ the robot reassured him. ‘The doctors here’ll stich you up and you’ll be right as rain.’

The man, boy really, let his head fall back in relief, heaving a great sigh.

The robot carried on working, but he heaved a sigh of his own. Here was one he could save, a life he didn’t have to watch leak away right before his eyes. A life he didn’t have to rip from its owner.

For a moment, his vision swam and his fingers froze. The sobs and cries from the stretchers around him redoubled, ringing through his head.

_Bullets. Mortar fire. Blue streaks stitching through the night. Lightning and men jerking like badly-handled puppets._

_No…_

He shook his head, trying to force the memories away, to blot them out. He couldn’t afford to do this, not here. Couldn’t give in to his own emotion, not when people needed him.

Music. Someone was humming.

His vision slowly cleared and the screams of the people he had murdered receded.

He looked down at his hands again and unbent the fingers, gradually persuading them to carry on with their work, cutting the cloth away, cleaning the wound. But as he did so, his ears still strained to hear that humming. He could have sworn he knew the tune, though he hadn’t the faintest idea where he’d learned it.

Finished with his patient, he stood up again and glanced around, trying to spot who was humming. Everyone he could see had their heads down, busy, trying to save every life they could.

He disinfected his hands, scrubbing in the joins with a wire brush, as he’d seen the other robots do, and then moved on.

Another stretcher, another broken man, this one unconscious. Good job too, with his injuries. He’d already been prepped, just waiting for a space in the OR now, but he checked the man’s IV and his heart rate.

 _Where did I learn to do this?_ The thought popped out of nowhere, but once present, refused to disappear. Where _had_ he learned all this medical stuff? He hadn’t been posted in a medical unit in Korea. The only unit he’d been in so far was the one that had been wiped out last week.

Or was it? Something stirred in the back of his mind. Planes, soaring through the sky, and crowds of people in blue uniforms. Then mud and barbed wire and men living underground in shelters gouged out of the soil. Heat, dust rising into the air, a loud, harsh call like a trumpet and the sense that others were standing beside him, standing _with_ him…

‘Concentrate,’ he muttered to himself, going back to disinfect his hands again.

As he scrubbed, he heard the humming again. A different tune, this time, but again he was sure it was one he knew. He made to walk away, to find his next patient, and realised his foot has started tapping of its own accord. He could almost hear the words, _almost_.

He strained, reaching for them as he found the next wounded, fragile body.

‘…daylight…my photo…night greeted me…’ It was coming, _it was coming!_

‘Our eyes all flashed blues and greens through the niiiight,’ he sung under his breath, then stopped.

_Our?_

There should be someone else, singing with him. If he could just­—

The soldier in front of him sobbed and the sound broke the spell.

No. He couldn’t do this now. These people needed him.

The Jon cast a sidelong glance at Rabbit as they passed each other and saw an identical grin to his own on his brother’s face. They’d both heard The Spine quietly singing along. He’d remembered something, actually _remembered!_

He wanted to dance around pre op, waving his cap in the air and hugging everyone in reach, but he couldn’t. They had to keep working. They could celebrate later.

Major Houlihan hurried out of the OR as he passed the doors, her hair coming out of its neat bun, her face shining with sweat.

‘We need more sutures,’ she said, looking around for someone to commandeer.

‘I’ll get them,’ The Jon said, steeping forward. The Major looked even more tired close up, he thought.

‘Thanks,’ she said, giving him a small smile. ‘We need silk, 3/0 and 5/0, and catgut in any size you can find. Oh and get some more gloves, as many as you can carry. And some bandages while you’re there.’

‘Silk, catgut, gloves and bandages,’ he reeled off, nodding. ‘Leave it to me, Major. Take a rest for a few minutes,’ he added, before scampering off, out of the hospital and over to the Supply shed.

It was dark inside, but the blue glow from his eyes glinted off the metal shelves, just bright enough to see by. He didn’t bother with the light, but moved forward, scanning the shelves as quickly as he could.

In the distance, there was a faint _boom_ as a shell went off. The war was coming closer again.

 _Silk_. He spotted the boxes and began checking them. 7/0, 6/0, 4/0, where was the—? Ah, there they were! 3/0 and 5/0, hiding at the back.

‘Naughty,’ he told them sternly, pulling them out. ‘Don’t hide. People need you.’

The catgut was better behaved, and so were the bandages, but the gloves were more of a problem. He piled his arms high with them and shuffled back over to the door, then realised he no longer had a hand free to open it.

The Jon wiggled his left arm further round, so that it could take the weight of his load and reached out his right hand, the corner of a box of silk still balanced on his wrist. He turned the handle, eased the door open, edged through it… and the gloves tumbled out of his arms, bringing everything else down with them into the mud.

‘No…’ The Jon muttered, falling to his knees to scoop the boxes up again. They were all sealed, the contents should be okay.

He was just pulling the door closed behind him, when a noise caught his ears.

He glanced up, eyes scanning the camp. He’d thought he’d heard a gasp, but there didn’t seem to be anyone around.

The rain had been taking a break, but it began to fall again now, just as the shelling sounded again, a little louder.

Movement. He blinked the raindrops out of his eyes and peered into the bushes that surrounded the camp. There was definitely someone out there. But who? Why were they hiding in the bushes instead of coming into the camp?

The Jon glanced around again, but none of the camp staff were in sight. Whoever was out there, they could be hurt, or lost. They might need help.

He nodded to himself, making up his mind, then carried the boxes carefully over to the hospital. He tucked them inside the door, where they wouldn’t get wet. Then he walked quietly over to the edge of the camp, crouched down, and crept into the bushes himself. He’d find this person, whoever they were, and help them. It was what he was here for.

‘Hello? 4077th MASH.’ As Radar answered the phone, another shell detonated. Each one sounded closer, louder. His stomach churned. He didn’t think they’d get shelled tonight, so why was he so on edge? He had a Bad Feeling, but he couldn’t pinpoint it. Trying just made his belly ache even worse.

‘38th Infantry here,’ said the deep, crackling voice at the other end. ‘Colonel Macy says to tell you we need those robots back, ASAP.’

Radar swallowed, shuffling on his hard, little chair.

‘Well, that might not be possible,’ he began.

‘Look,’ the voice said sharply. ‘These are Colonel Macy’s orders, do you hear me?’

‘Yes, sir,’ Radar said (the voice sounded like a ‘sir’), ‘but we’re getting a flood of casualties at the moment. I don’t know if we can spare ‘em, sir. We need every hand we can get.’

‘So do we,’ the voice said, firmly. ‘They’re the best medics in our outfit. Without them, a lot of our boys aren’t gonna make it to you in the first place. We want them back as soon as possible, do you hear me?’

‘…Yes, sir,’ Radar said, slumping over his desk.

‘Good.’ The man hung up and Radar was left staring at scratches on his desk, listening to the shelling coming closer, his stomach churning even worse than before.

‘ _Annyeonghaseyo?_ ’ The Jon called. He was far out from the camp now, deep amongst the bushes and the trees, making sure he knew where the minefield was. He didn’t want to stumble into it accidentally. ‘Hello?’ he said again. ‘I’m friendly.’ He repeated it in Korean. He was sure the small, scurrying figures he’d spotted were just up ahead, in that big clump of bushes where the land folded in on itself.

He patted his pockets and found the tiny flashlight he’d been using to check pupil dilation on patients with head injuries.

Switching it on, he thrust through the bushes.

‘Oh!’ he said. ‘ _Annyeong._ ’

Two pairs of dark eyes stared up at him, wide and glassy in the light from his torch.

‘ _I’m The Jon,_ ’ he said in Korean. He crouched down in front of the two little girls and doffed his cap. ‘ _I’m not going to hurt you. What are you doing out here?_ ’

They merely watched him, still huddling together, gripping each other’s arms so tight they were leaving marks.

Remembering Hyun-Ae, The Jon sang softly under his breath until the girls at last let go of each other and some of the stark terror in their faces was replaced by curiosity.

‘ _I’m a metal man._ ’ The Jon beamed at them. ‘ _I’m here to help people. I can help you, if you like. If you come to the camp, we can give you food and somewhere to sleep_.’

One of them gulped and they drew closer together again.

The Jon nodded.

‘ _I understand_ ,’ he said. ‘ _I thought the army was scary too. But the people here are really kind. They aren’t soldiers. They’re doctors. They make people better. They found my brother and they’re making him better. They’ll help you, too._ ’

‘ _Will they find our mum and dad?_ ’ The girl who spoke was the slightly bigger of the two, but even she couldn’t have been much more than eight. Her voice was so low, he almost didn’t catch it.

‘ _They’ll certainly try!_ ’ The Jon said, nodding harder. ‘ _They’re really good at finding people._ ’

‘ _Can we go, Ye-won?_ ’ the smaller girl asked, looking up at her sister. Her face was smeared with mud and covered in scratches. ‘ _I’m hungry. I’m tired._ ’

The Jon smiled again and held out his hand.

‘ _I’ll look after you,_ ’ he said, standing up. ‘ _I promise._ ’

Something rustled behind him and he whipped around. The flashlight swung in his hands, shining off the metal figure that burst from the bushes.

A trickle of sweat ran down Sidney’s brow and Lieutenant Dish wiped it away for him.

‘Thanks,’ he muttered as he forced his hands to remember what they had learnt in med school all those years ago. ‘Clamp.’

‘Clamp,’ she repeated, placing it in his hands.

He reached down into the raw, hot wound before him and closed the clamp on a vein, trying to keep the young man’s life from slipping away.

‘Where’s The Jon with those supplies?’ he heard Major Houlihan ask, but didn’t dare look up from his work.

‘I’ll go chase him, Major,’ Klinger volunteered.

‘You okay, Sidney?’ said Hawk’s voice.

‘Think so,’ Sidney said, forcing himself to breath slowly. He felt someone next to him, looking over his shoulder.

‘You’re doing fine,’ Hawkeye said and Sidney glanced up to meet his eye. Hawk nodded and so did Sidney.

He looked back down and saw exactly what he had to do.

‘Thanks, Hawkeye,’ he said, his shoulders relaxing, just a little.

For a minute or so, there was almost silence, broken only by the growing rumble of the shelling and the rattle of instruments on steel trays.

‘Okay, I’m done, get me the next one,’ Trapper said, clapping his hands.

The Spine appeared, followed by another orderly. They went to take Trapper’s patient away, but they had barely reached the table when there was a clatter outside and Klinger burst into the room, pearls swinging widely and his beret askew.

‘There’s someone out there!’ he panted. ‘There’s someone sneaking around camp. Could be guerrillas!’

Someone cried out in horror.

‘What?’ Henry asked, his jerking up from his patient. ‘Are you sure?’

‘I been seeing things all night,’ Klinger said, gesturing wildly. ‘I thought I was imagining it, but I definitely saw someone this time!’

‘Colonel,’ Houlihan said at once, ‘someone needs to go out there, to find this person. We have to keep the patients and the nurses safe.’

She looked at Frank and raised her eyebrows. Frank gulped and said,

‘Well, I can’t go. I’m operating. Send one of the enlisted men.’

‘Frank!’ Houlihan said, disgusted, as the OR filled with cries of outrage.

‘We’re all operating,’ Trapper said. ‘We can’t stop just to go on a wild goose chase.’

‘I’m telling you!’ Klinger burst out, affronted. ‘Someone’s out there!’

Sidney opened his mouth, it was his job to defuse situations like this, after all, but—

‘I’ll go.’

The deep, rich voice broke through the clamour and silence fell once more.

‘You’ve been walking around less than ten hours,’ Trapper said, gesturing at The Spine as he pulled his gloves off. ‘One of us’ll go. I’m not having you undo all our hard work this afternoon.’

‘With respect, sir,’ the robot said, his voice firm, ‘you’re human. I’m not. If I go out there, none of you will get hurt.’ His eyes were glowing brighter than Sidney had ever seen before. ‘You’re more important,’ he carried on, his gaze sliding past them to fix on the wall, ‘all of you.’

Before anyone could stop him, he turned and disappeared through the doors, his bouncing stride now purposeful.

Sidney looked after him and his gut twisted. The man was up and walking, his body fixed, apart from the holes in his plating. Trapper and Hawkeye had done their work, but Sidney hadn’t done his. The Spine still hadn’t remembered, he still thought of himself as lesser than humans, as somehow expendable.

Guilt gnawed on his small intestine, like a rat chewing through a wire, as the OR slowly ground back into action, everyone checking the doors again and again, constantly listening, waiting.

_Guilt…_

_Guilt!_

‘Damn it,’ Sidney cursed under his breath.

‘Are you all right, Doctor?’ Lieutenant Dish asked. ‘Only, the patient?’

‘Fine,’ he said, forcing his hands back to work, while the cogs in his brain span at double speed.

Guilt, that was what he had been missing.

 _Another person dead because of me._ That was what The Spine had said to him. He’d thought at the time that he’d simply meant another person he hadn’t managed to help in time, but what if that wasn’t the case? What if he’d meant _another person I killed_?

 _Get it together, Sidney,_ he told himself, sternly, as the gunfire grew still louder, the battle creeping ever nearer. _Yes, you screwed up, and yes, he needs you, but the young man on this table needs you a heck of a lot more right now!_

As soon as this was done, he’d have another session with The Spine and this time they’d right to the bottom of it. They just had to get through this first.

The robot slid quietly out of the hospital and scanned the compound from the shadows. There was no movement.

Where to start?

He crossed the compound in long, bouncing strides. His gait was so strange, not like the humans’ and not very good in a warzone with bad terrain. It was almost as if he hadn’t been built with war in mind…

 _Focus_.

If he started the other side of the camp, then circled, he would be able to find anyone out there and he would always know where the minefield was. He didn’t think anyone was foolish enough to run into that. Besides, he’d soon hear if they did.

Peering between two tents, he stared into the bushes.

An explosion sounded and he flinched. It wasn’t distant, not anymore. Coming even closer.

He eased forward and ducked into the scrubby brush. For a moment, he considered unhooking his spine and going forward in reconnaissance mode. No, if he came across an enemy, he needed to be able to tackle them. They wouldn’t wait while he wriggled back to his chassis.

Keeping low, he moved further in, then turned and began circling the compound, listening hard for any sound, watching for a light, a movement. He dimmed the glow from his eyes as much as he could and readjusted his weight distribution so his footsteps wouldn’t give him away. Didn’t want to alert the enemy.

Another step. Two. Three. Where were they? Lying in wait? Setting up an ambush? He strained to hear.

A shell burst nearby and he dropped to the ground, covering his head. But there was no smoke, no debris. Maybe it hadn’t been as close as he’d thought…

The sound of guns. The noise that always sounded in his head. It was leaking out to fill the world around him too.

Another shell ripped through the air above him and exploded a few yards away, pounding him with shrapnel.

More followed, more and more, until the sound echoed around the mountains in one, eternal roll of thunder. The red light from the explosions sprayed across the scene like blood, lighting up the bushes where someone, _the enemy_ , was lurking, waiting.

 _We are in the red zone_ , he thought. … _Red zone?_

He pushed himself up onto his elbows and struggled forward. He had to get to their position, destroy them before they destroyed his unit. Power hummed in his chest as he inched through the bushes, their branches scratching at him like barbed wire, catching in his uniform, holding him back.

 _No!_ Reach forward. Grip. Push on.

Another explosion, right overhead, sending the ground quaking beneath him. Smoke filled in his bellows and he coughed. He tried to draw breath, but the stink of mud and iron and blood choked him. Machine guns rattled, a counterpoint to the wrathful crash of the shells.

Again, he pushed himself up, scrabbling forward, but he was caught now, caught in the barbed wire that covered this place like some noxious weed. Caught between the trenches. He struggled to get his fingers around the wire, then tore it away from him with all his strength. He could hear soldiers groaning, begging for help, as they lay slumped in the shell craters. Had to reach them, help them.

A new sound, mechanical. Trumpeting. Tremors running through his body.

Dust rose as the artillery crashed, filling the air. Hot, scratching clouds.

He saw green light blazing, emerald beams that set the dust sparkling, searching, searching for _him_.

‘ _There are too many!_ ’ someone cried to his left and the ground trembled as their enemy came on and he staggered forwards to meet them.

‘ _Tar-tar-target acquired_ ,’ glitched another voice, oddly familiar.

Shrieks of metal on metal, cries of fear.

‘ _Jon? Jon, look out!_ ’

‘Stand fast, everyone,’ he told them. Stay strong. They had to.

Shells exploded, the sound puncturing his ears and he cried out in pain.

Screaming.

‘ _Hatchyy! Haaaatchhhyyy!_ ’

‘Rabbit, down!’ he cried, his voice lost as the guns boomed.

A whining shriek, tearing the air above.

‘Incoming!’

He threw himself to the ground again and the shell exploded.

Red light broke over him again as the dust blew away, painting him in blood. The endless crashing roared on, but he clambered to his feet.

Had to save the people screaming. Had to stop the enemy.

Had to kill them.

He stalked forwards, ducking shrapnel, bullets whining past his ears. His core pulsed hot as it charged his chest array.

Faster, _faster_. The longer it took, the more people died.

 _Kill them…_ Kill to save. Hurt to stop the hurt.

There.

Light, in the bushes. Voices, speaking Korean.

The enemy at last, skulking, hiding, waiting to pounce.

He charged forward, thrusting the bushes aside.

A glint of metal, right in front of him.

_An attack!_

He opened fire.

‘Nooooo!’


	13. Fragments

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry for how late this is; the run-up to Christmas has been rather busy. I hope you're all keeping safe and well.
> 
> Thanks for reading this far. I hope you enjoy this chapter too!

‘Nooooo!’

Blue light blazing from his chest. Barely hearing the figure’s cry for the noise of the guns. So loud. _So loud._

Stepping forward.

The figure, twitching, staggering. Dropping.

The crash, lost in the endless hammer-falls of the shells around them.

_One down._

He scanned the area. No one, apart from the two smaller enemies in front of him.

Power sparked down his wires, charging the Tesla coil projector. He raised his arm, the weapon unfolding.

A step closer.

A scream. A scream so high, so loud it tore through the gunfire to pierce his audioreceptors.

He flinched, staggered back. Blinked. Blinked again at the small, huddled shapes in front of him.

And the green light from his eyes fell on…

_Children._

Not the enemy, not soldiers lying in wait, not even locals doubling as guerrillas.

Two children…

He stared and stared, at their trembling, shuddering forms, cringing away from him. At their eyes wide and dark with fear and hunger. At the tears, sparkling in the green light as they coursed down dirt-speckled cheeks.

_And he had been about to slaughter them._

His arm crackled and he looked down to see that he had lowered it, without thinking. The lightning still yearned for release, but he hauled it back, sent it skittering through his systems to play itself out.

_Children…_

Then, who had he fired on?

He swivelled his head to look down at the fallen soldier. His bellows seized up for a moment, as wordless recognition chimed within him. That build, that curly hair…

Fear twisted the wiring in his gut and he dropped to his knees, rolling the prone form over.

_No…_

The Jon’s brass face plates gleamed under his photoreceptors.

_No!_

‘No,’ he whispered. ‘No. Nononono _nonono_ NoNo _NOOOO!_ ’

_I’ve killed so many, so many, so many. Ever my own kind now. Even other robots._

The gunfire swelled again, carrying the screams of the dying with it. Two new voices were added to the mix: the terrified shriek of the little girls he had almost massacred and the cry of The Jon as he had burst from the cover and fired.

_Murderer,_ said his own voice in his ear. _Monster. I told you it wouldn’t stop. I told you you would kill again._

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry,’ he whispered. He lifted the limp chassis and cradled it, desperately pleading with the robot to turn back on.

_It’s too late for that._

Black spots appeared on the shining brass and he wiped them away as gently as he could.

‘Please, please.’ He patted the smooth, cool cheek, feeling the joins in the plates under his fingers.

_You’ve killed all those people. Why didn’t you cry then? Why is this one different?_

_Why_ was _The Jon different?_ he thought dimly. Why was it this death that had scorched the leather of his bellows so that every breath was agony? Why was his core suddenly so tight, constricted, like the case around it had shrunk?

‘Why _him?_ ’ he sobbed into the night. ‘Why The Jon?’

_Why?_ When The Jon was kind, so caring, so good at looking into other people’s cores, right from the beginning…

Grief and guilt rose, as unstoppable as the tide, and he floundered, trying to keep his head above the dark waters laced with foam that tasted of failure.

The screaming still rang in his ears, on and on. The pain built in his circuits, scrambling up him, higher and higher. The grief closed over his head. He opened his mouth and let it all pour out of him, his own scream tearing through the world, as though that might make it stop, might stop it drowning him.

_Never. It’s too late for that._

There were noises behind him, scuffles and footsteps, but they faded quickly and anyway, they didn’t matter. Not when The Jon lay limp and still in the dirt, photoreceptors wide open and dark, a hole burned right through his uniform to where the casing around his core had buckled.

His scream faded away and he clutched the other robot to him, rocking him, as silence fell, broken only by faint explosions. The war, still carrying on, still pulling people in and grinding them down into dust, into the dirt. Like he had.

‘I’m sorry,’ he whispered again, his voice ragged. The scream seemed to have overloaded the circuits in his voice box. ‘I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m sorry.’

And he was still repeating it when they found him an hour later.

  


Francis whispered the final few words and drew the Sign of the Cross. Beside him, Trapper gritted his teeth, his hands moving so fast they were practically blurred.

Francis hovered, wanting to pray, but unsure what for. Should he ask God to let the young man live, when so much of him was damaged or missing? What kind of life would that be? Yet he couldn’t bring himself to ask for the alternative. So he waited. Waited to see what the Lord would—

The cry burst through the OR and Francis flinched, staring wildly around for the person who was making it. Someone else screamed too, but that was shrill and sharp, instantly cut off, while the howl of agony went on and on.

_Please, Lord, make it stop!_ Francis begged, his whole body trembling in time to the incalculable pain in that sound.

For a moment, it seemed like his prayer had been refused, the strange, almost inhuman, cry filling the room. And then it faded and died.

Silence clanged back and Francis gripped his rosary, trying to stop himself shaking, focusing on the hard, round beads under his fingers.

‘What…’ Colonel Blake voiced the thought they were all having. ‘What in hell was that?’

‘I don’t think I want to know,’ Hawkeye muttered at the next table over. There were murmurs of agreement all around the room.

‘I-I’ll go,’ Francis heard himself say.

‘You sure, Father?’ Trapper stared at him. ‘The Jon went off, then The Spine. We don’t want to send the whole camp off one by one like in a horror movie.’

‘I’m sure,’ Francis said, surprised to find that he was. ‘Whoever that was, was hurt. I can’t just stand by. Don’t worry,’ he added, seeing the dubious looks on every face. ‘I’ll take Klinger with me.’ For all his desperate and bizarre attempts to get out of the army, Francis could think of few others as decent as Klinger. Most of the others were currently around the operating tables.

‘Good luck, Father,’ Henry said, the relief in his face obvious even through his mask. Now he didn’t have to send anyone.

Francis nodded and slipped out of the OR. For a moment, he stood in the corridor, stomach crawling with suppressed fear. Behind him, the normal sounds of the OR, the clink and rattle of instrument, the rustle of people moving, the orders from the doctors, began to reassert itself over the appalling silence. Far off, a shell exploded, but it was further away from camp now, distant. The war would not find them, at least not tonight.

He shook himself, knowing he was delaying he’d promised to do. _Lord, lend one Your strength_ , he prayed, as the howl echoed through his mind again. _Help me to help that poor soul._

‘Klinger?’ he called, undoing the strings of his mask and taking off the white cap he had worn in the OR. ‘Klinger?’

He hurried through the hospital and bumped into Lieutenant Dish.

‘Father, what was that?’ she asked, white as bone.

‘I’m about to find out,’ he said, manoeuvring politely around her, using the action to try to hide the fact that he was shaking.

‘Klinger?’ he called again, sticking his head into pre-op.

‘Father?’ Klinger’s face, drawn and harried, emerged from the bustle of the ward. In his nurse’s uniform, he was a most unlikely angel of mercy.

_Well_ , Francis thought, _we may need a little angelic tenderness, no matter how bizarre the source_.

‘Father, what was that?’ Klinger asked, sliding between two stretchers to reach the door. He shivered. ‘I ain’t hard anything like that before. And I live in Toledo.’

On any other day, he would have meant that last as a joke, but it didn’t carry the ring of humour this time.

‘I don’t know,’ Francis admitted. ‘I’d like your help to find out.’ He could be spared more easily than the doctors and nurses and something about his obstinate decision to wear women’s clothes, no matter what anyone else thought, always strengthened Francis’s own courage. Few things, he had found, were more frightening than ridicule.

Klinger turned a pleading look on Francis, who glanced quickly around the room to see if there was anyone else likely to volunteer.

His eyes skimmed over Nurse Cutler, who was trying to stop her hands shaking long enough to give an injection, Lieutenant Scorch, who was dressing a wound, far slower than usual, and then Private Straminksy, whose own gaze kept sliding off into the distance.

Francis looked back at Klinger. ‘Please?’

The corporal sighed, his shoulders slumping forward. ‘Okay… Maybe it’ll finally prove I’m nuts…’

‘Thank you,’ Francis said, smiling. ‘Now, come on.’

They slipped through the organised chaos as fast as they could and then hurried through the hospital and out into the night.

For a moment, they both paused, as though expecting whoever had made the sound to be sitting right outside.

‘Where do we start?’ Klinger said, pulling his blue cape around him, even though the air was thick and stuffy.

‘I’m not sure,’ Francis said, gazing around. The light from the hospital seemed to rebound as soon as it reached the edge of camp and they could see nothing beyond the closest of the tents. ‘But,’ he continued, voicing the thought that had come to him the second howl of pain had sounded. ‘The Jon and The Spine are still out here, somewhere.’ His skin prickled.

‘You reckon they’re—’

Rustling, snapping twigs.

Both men turned towards the sound, straining to see through the gloom. Francis started forward, his gut churning. Was he bringing someone help or heading into danger?

The figures shot out from between two tents and Francis leaped backwards in shock.

‘Wha— Oh…’ he heard Klinger say, over the pounding of his own heart.

Oh, indeed.

Two little Korean girls had appeared, shaking, tears tracing lines through the dirt on their cheeks. They had jumped at the sight of the two Americans and now they drew instinctively together, gazing at Francis with eyes so wide and dark he wondered how their faces could contain them.

‘Hello there,’ he said, crouching down, trying to make himself less frightening. He wished he had his sister’s way with children. He tried a smile and both girls broke into loud, wailing sobs.

‘Hey, it’s all right,’ Klinger said, squelching over to stand next to Francis.

They exchanged glances, then each lifted up a girl and carried her across to the mess tent. It was dark and empty, everyone having been roped into hospital duty, but at least it was somewhere quiet.

‘Is there anything we can get them to drink?’ Francis asked, as he placed the smaller of the two girls on the bench by the door and flicked on the lights.

‘Not unless you want me to raid Haykeye’s gin,’ Klinger said ruefully, seating the other girl opposite the first. ‘I could run to the kitchen and get some powdered milk?’

Between the warm milk and the two men’s very limited knowledge of Korean, the girls gradually began to talk and Francis started to piece together what had happened. The squirming in his gut intensified.

He remembered how The Jon had asked him to speak to Hyun-Ae and dredged up some of the phrases the robot had taught him.

‘ _Metal man?_ ’ he asked, haltingly.

The younger girl flinched.

The older began to gabble, pouring out a flood of explanations that they would have understood less than half of even if she’d been talking slowly. Somewhere in there, Francis was sure he heard the words ‘metal man’, possibly ‘two’ and, he thought, ‘Jon’.

‘ _Gamsahabmida_ ,’ Francis said, standing up. _Thank you._ ‘Klinger,’ he continued, ‘I’ll go and get Major Houlihan. She can look after them while we go and find the robots.’

‘What do you think’s happened?’ Klinger asked, worry knotting his forehead.

‘I don’t know,’ Francis admitted, his own forehead creased too, ‘but it’s not good.’

He crossed the compound again and, once the children were in Major Houlihan’s capable hands, he and Klinger found torches and struck out from camp in the direction the children had come from.

‘The Jon?’ they called. ‘The Spine?’

Further, further, the night swallowing up the camp as they left it behind, the sounds of the hospital fading away almost instantly, so all they could hear was the distant artillery, the squelch of their footsteps through the wet soil and the rustle of Klinger’s skirt.

And then the torch light bounced back from between some bushes.

Francis shouldered through and nearly dropped his flashlight.

The robot kneeling on the ground seemed not to notice them, but as he rocked the limp form of The Jon, Francis heard him whispering.

‘I’m sorry, I’m sorry, I’m sorry.’

  


Frank scrubbed at his face with a weary hand, relying on the frame of the hospital door to keep him standing. Something was going on. The Jon, The Spine, then Father Mulcahy and that weird Corporal Klinger had all disappeared and then Margaret had apparently been put in charge of two random kids found wandering around outside. Thieves, probably… His eyelids fluttered.

Then he jerked upright and rubbed his eyes again.

The father and Klinger and The Spine were emerging slowly out of the darkness, the latter cradling a body in its arms.

_Oh no, not again…_ Visions of the nightmare that had lurched into camp, little more than a week ago, swam through his mind.

He backed out of the way as they approached, to let them through the door, and stared down at the form in the tall robot’s arms.

_The Jon?_ He blinked and his heart thudded in his chest. The robot’s curly hair was dishevelled, clumped together with something black that was also smeared across his face. ‘What happened?’ he cried. ‘He was fine a couple of hours—’

Ragged breathing. Frank glanced up and his voice died away. He had heard the robot quietly sobbing in the ward before but he hadn’t looked, hadn’t wanted to. Now he saw the black, viscous fluid streaming down the angular face from eyes fixed solely on the lifeless body in The Spine’s arms.

Words flashed through his mind, fragments of the song Rabbit had sung.

_And what is this leaking affecting my eye? Does the oil that is dripping mean this is a cry?_

And Hawkeye’s impatience. _Do you really think something that was just a machine could have a musical existential crisis?_

And finally, a fragment of memory, long since pushed away. The dog that hung around his neighbourhood, that used to come running up when it saw him, wagging its tail. Finding it one day, dead. Hiding in his bedroom, curled up, sobbing, the only one who would play with him now cold and stiff.

Could-could a robot really feel that much pain? The thought grated on him, sandpaper on a raw nerve, it was so _unnatural_ , and yet—

Something burst into the ward behind with, banging off the doors. Rabbit hurtled in. He stopped dead as his eyes fell on The Jon.

_God…_ Frank blinked as his own eyes stung. _They really can._

  


Metallic rattling rang in his audioreceptors and the robot finally looked up.

_Oh no…_

‘J-J-Jon?’ Rabbit stammered as he skidded to a halt in front of him. ‘J-J-J-Jon!’ His eyes widened so much they seemed to hill his whole face. Steam shot from this cheek vents. ‘No, no…’

‘I-I…’ the robot began. But how could he explain to Rabbit? ‘I’m sorry,’ he finished, softly. Such a pitiful, inadequate response.

‘Jon?’ Rabbit said again, coming right up to them now, patting his brother’s cheek with trembling copper fingers. ‘No, you can’t l-leave me. Not you too.’ He glanced at the hole in his brother’s uniform, at the scorched and buckled metal beneath, and flinched. ‘P-Pappy and Peter II and Guy and The Spi-Spine. You can’t leave me too.’

‘Rabbit,’ he tried, but his voice cracked. _I killed the last brother you had left._

‘Here,’ said Father Mulcahy’s gentle voice. ‘Put him down on the bed here.’

He stumbled over to the empty cot, only vaguely aware of the ward filling up with people, of the gasps, of their eyes fixed upon hm. He lowered The Jon as carefully as he could onto the blanket.

Rabbit staggered over too. Then he trembled and collapsed onto his knees, the dark tears starting in his eyes.

_I’ve failed_ , the robot thought. _I didn’t protect them._ Protect them? Why would he be doing that? But the why didn’t matter, not when the evidence of his failure, his _crime_ lay motionless before them.

Darkness lapped at his vision. Was it more tears or the same void that had swallowed him when he had first arrived at MASH with a soldier in his arms? He closed his eyes and let the oil stream down his face again, for how long, he didn’t know.

‘Colonel Blake says the queues are backing up,’ said Radar’s voice, at last, from somewhere in the distance. It was heavy and sullen. ‘We’ve-we’ve got to get back to work.’

There were sighs around him and Klinger grunted in frustration.

He opened his eyes, though it was the last thing he wanted to do, and saw Rabbit getting to his feet too. The war carried on chewing people up. If all it took was one casualty to stop it, they wouldn’t be here now.

‘Where are you going?’ Father Mulcahy asked, from the other side of The Jon’s cot.

‘H-h-helping,’ Rabbit said flatly. His mismatched eyes were barely glowing.

‘Don’t be absurd!’ the priest said, his face twisting in anguish. ‘No one expects you to go back to work now. Not after this!’

‘We have to,’ the robot said, duty and guilt for once propelling him in the same direction. ‘Human lives are more important.’ Ringing silence fell and he closed his eyes again for a moment to hold back another wave of tears. Now wasn’t the time. Photoreceptors still closed, he turned away from the bed.

Noise broke through the quiet, muttering springing up from the few people left, like weeds after the rain.

‘…You don’t have to be so sad,’ said a weak, familiar voice.

He spun back around, eyes snapping back open, and through the film of oil over their lenses, he saw two tiny pinpricks of blue light.

‘J-Jon?’ the robot said. He blinked the oil away and saw the blue light growing stronger and stronger. He swayed, his stabilisers glitching, and steam poured from his mouth. _It-it couldn’t be._

Rabbit was as still as The Jon had been a moment before.

A slow nod. ‘You don’t have to be sad,’ The Jon said again, as the tall, silver robot blinked the oil in his eyes away. ‘I’m okay.’

‘But,’ he tried, swaying, his core pulsing and twitching in his chest, ‘how, I don’t…’ His voice faded away, leaving him mouthing soundlessly, groping for words that wouldn’t come.

‘It hit me in the chest,’ The Jon explained, a tiny smile creasing his face plates. ‘My… my _engine_ ,’ he continued, his eyes widening, ‘absorbed it. Knocked me out. But I’m okay. So’s the koi,’ he added, thoughtfully.

_The void._ The Jon’s void had saved him. If it had been anyone else…

_How do I know he has a void?_ said a small voice in the back of his mind, but he pushed it away.

‘I’m so sorry,’ he whispered, as he had done for the last hour. ‘Jon, I’m so sorry. I didn’t— I thought— I thought I’d killed you…’

Rabbit’s head snapped round and he stared at him with that same terrible expression he had worn the night they had met. Disbelief. Confusion. _Fear_.

The few onlookers left gasped and backed away, involuntarily. Father Mulcahy muttered, ‘Dear Lord’.

But the robot barely heard them, caught in Rabbit’s burning gaze. Why did it hurt so much to have Rabbit looking at him like that? It was as if someone had held a lit match to his oil lines, the pain racing through every one of his systems, blazing. He shook where he stood, all his joints rattling.

‘It’s okay,’ said The Jon, his voice a little louder now, a little stronger, carrying above the murmuring in the ward. ‘It was an accident.’

‘But it wasn’t,’ the robot whispered. He took a step away from them and bumped into the little table by the side of the cot. ‘I tried to kill you.’ The fires seared through him, twisting around every gear and piston, the flames crackling with the sounds of gunfire, shells, screams.

‘You thought I was the enemy,’ The Jon said, his voice still calm. His eyebrows raised in the middle and black liquid welled around his eyes too. ‘You couldn’t tell who I was. The Spine, you’re _sick_ , you couldn’t help it.’

He looked away, unable to meet those blue lights, unable even to point out that he wasn’t The Spine.

‘He’s r-right,’ said Rabbit.

He chanced a glance at the copper robot and was surprised at the change he saw on his face. The disbelief, the confusion, the fear, it was all still there. But it was fear _for_ him, not _of_ him.

‘You’re s-sick, Spine,’ Rabbit agreed. ‘You m-must be. You wouldn’t do something like that otherw-wise.’ He stuck his chin out.

_You don’t know me! You don’t know what I’m capable of!_

The Jon raised his head off the pillow and he found his gaze drawn back to the slender, brass robot.

‘I know you want to make amends,’ The Jon said. ‘You don’t need to, but I know you want to.’

He nodded, though nothing could ever make amends for what he’d done, all the people he’d killed.

‘Talk to Major Freedman,’ The Jon said, giving another small smile. ‘That’s how you make amends. He’ll make you better. And then you’ll be The Spine again.’

‘Y-y-yes,’ Rabbit said, more to himself than to the others. ‘We need The Spine.’

He wasn’t The Spine, but how could he be angry with them now, after what he’d done, the hurt he’d caused them? He wasn’t The Spine, but he wished he could be, yearned to have brothers, _family_ like them.

‘No,’ he said softly.

‘Huh?’ The Jon struggled to sit up and Father Mulcahy put a hand on his shoulder to stop him. ‘But he can help you!’

‘He doesn’t want to help me,’ he said, the bitter words spilling from his mouth before he could claw them back. ‘He only wants me to fight again. To-to _kill_ again.’ His voice splintered and he was trembling again, sobs squeezing themselves out of his throat. He thought he’d resigned himself to what he had to do, thought he’d accepted it, but he’d been wrong. ‘I don’t want to,’ he whispered finally.

‘Son,’ said Father Mulcahy, coming round the bed to lay a gentle hand on his shoulder, ‘Major Freedman is a good man. He’s a very good psychiatrist. Tell him how you feel.’ He peered up earnestly into the robot’s face. There was such trust shining through his glasses, trust in Major Freedman and, he suddenly realised, trust in _him_.

‘All right,’ he found himself saying. It had been so long since someone had trusted him. Toby had, of course, but he had let him down. And had someone else done, before, before the war? Relied on him, looked up, not just _at_ him, as the priest was doing, but _to_ him? he couldn’t remember, but it felt familiar, felt right. He didn’t want to betray that kind of trust, not again.

Clattering echoed through the hallway and two orderlies appeared with a patient. At the same time, a groan came from one of the beds. Major Burns, whom they had all forgotten was still standing there, peeled himself off of the doorframe and slouched across the room to the airman they had brought in the day before.

‘You’re awake, good,’ the robot heard him say as he watched the orderlies deposit the soldier on a bed.

‘We’d b-b-better go and help,’ Rabbit said, his blue and green eyes fixed on the silver robot.

He nodded.

So did The Jon, who levered himself up stiffly from the bed.

More lines of guilt rippled through him.

‘Sorry, my boy,’ Father Mulcahy said, turning on the spot and pushing The Jon’s shoulders back down again. He was surprisingly strong for such a slim man. ‘You’re not going anywhere, not just yet. I guess I can’t stop the others, but if you’re too weak to get without help, then you won’t be much good for the patients.’

The Jon frowned, then flopped back down with an exaggerated sigh.

Rabbit reached forward and squeezed his brother’s fingers in his own. He sighed too. ‘Come on,’ he said and the robot followed him deeper into the hospital, to do what good he was capable of.

  


The robot woke, bleary-eyed, streaks of oil still tacky on his face plates, and looked curiously around before realising he was in the post-op ward, sitting crookedly against the wall next to The Jon’s bed. Or what had been The Jon’s bed. At some point during the last few hours, the brass robot had vanished, to be replaced by a grey-haired man in several layers of bandages and a plaster cast.

‘Jon?’ he asked, pushing himself upright and looking all around the ward. Was he all right? Or had he been removed from the ward because—

‘Your buddies’re okay,’ said an unfamiliar voice.

He pushed himself clumsily to his feet and, swaying as his stabilisers kicked into life, spotted the red head of the airman who lain unconscious just the previous morning in the bed next to his.

He was sitting up now, still pale, still unhealthy looking, but awake and apparently feeling well enough for some light conversation.

‘Thanks,’ the robot said, belatedly.

‘So, you’re real, huh?’ the airman said, gazing at him curiously.

‘Yes.’

‘Saw you guys last night. Thought it might be the morphine at first, but then I woke up again this morning and there you and your buddies were. And everyone could see you, so figured I wasn’t hallucinating.’

He nodded, unable to think of an actual answer.

‘They woke up couple of hours ago,’ the airman carried on, hitching himself awkwardly up on his pillows, ‘in case you was wondering. The short one, he’s doing all right.’

‘He is?’ He couldn’t quite believe it, couldn’t dispel the image of The Jon’s slack body.

‘He was well enough to take my temperature and then bop me on the nose with the thermometer.’

A chuckle escaped the robot’s lips and he suddenly found he was grinning. ‘That sounds like The Jon,’ he said. ‘Where’d they go, he and Rabbit?’

‘Not sure,’ the airman admitted. ‘Someone came, he had a message for them. They scampered off right away.’

‘Who brought them the message?’ the robot asked. What had happened?

‘Er…’ The airman frowned, thinking. ‘Short kid. Round. Glasses.’

_Radar._

The robot inclined his head. ‘Thank you…?’

‘Oh, Tommy Havisham,’ the airman said. ‘Captain Tommy Havisham. What’s your name?’

‘Lieutenant—’ he began, automatically, then looked away as whatever followed dropped into that nameless chasm within him.

‘Can’t remember?’ Havisham asked, casually, as though it was no big deal.

He shook his head.

Havisham nodded. ‘Seen that happen a couple o’ times, in this war, and the last one. Men come here, knowing who they are. Sometimes they don’t always leave the same way.’

That was… reassuring, somehow, to know that humans had the same problems. _Although_ , he thought, _they’re not machines. People expect them to have feelings._

A shadow passed across the airman’s face, the lines around his eyes deepening, as he said, ‘Nearly happened to me, too.’

He edged closer. The man was admitting it? ‘You?’ he prompted, coming right up to the end of the cot.

The airman nodded again. ‘It’s hard to remember, sometimes, what we’re even fighting for, what we’re doin’ here. Who we are.’ He leaned forward, wincing as the motion pulled at wounds hidden under his blankets. ‘But I had Barbara, my girl. She wrote me letters and sent me a colour picture of her. Every time I go up in my plane, she comes with me.’ He glanced at the side table. A small, crumpled and extremely discoloured photograph lay on it. A smile spread across his face as he said, ‘She’s my wife now. You know, she’s got the bluest eyes…’

‘Why are you telling me this?’ He had to ask. Why would a stranger, a _human_ stranger tell him something so personal? Why would they want to help him? But then, the MASH staff had been strangers and they had still helped him, most of them.

‘Well, you seemed mighty upset last night,’ Havisham said. ‘Figured I might be able to help.’

He glanced away again, fiddling with the hem of his shirt while shame built up the steam pressure inside him. His cooling fins began to slide out but he put them back in, wary of ripping his shirt.

‘I saw a lot,’ Havisham carried on, ‘flying those B-17s in the last war. Seen more in this one. Ten years ago, almost went over the edge myself.’ His eyes unfocused for a moment and the ghost of anguish flitted across his features. ‘Would have, if it hadn’t been for Barb.’

Someone snorted. They both looked round and saw a thin, wiry man sneering at them from across the ward.

‘You got something to say?’ Havisham asked, his voice suddenly hard and sharp as flint.

‘No. You seem to have plenty,’ the man said, his lip curling. ‘You always wear your heart on your sleeve?’

‘You mean you don’t have anything?’ Havisham shot back.

The robot avoided looking at either of them, wishing he were shorter and not made of metal, wishing he were human, because then he could make himself inconspicuous.

‘You don’t have anything to remind you of home?’ the airman continued.

Now it was the other man looking awkward. ‘Bad as my brother,’ he muttered at last. ‘Always banging on about that goddamned star of his.’

‘Star?’ the robot asked, interested despite his wish to remain unnoticed.

The man snorted again. ‘He’s a lieutenant in the navy. Reckons he and his wife have this star they used to meet under and as long as he can see it from his ship, then he’ll be all right, ‘cos she’s watching over him.’ His lip curled more than the robot realised as physically possible. ‘Load of nancy boy trash,’ he said and flipped over so that he was facing away from them. The effect was somewhat ruined by the fact that the bandages round his middle meant he couldn’t lie on his stomach and he had to roll back again almost instantly, grunting in pain.

‘Well, his brother sounds okay,’ Havisham, not troubling to lower his voice, ‘even if he’s a meathead. Don’t worry,’ he continued, smiling tiredly at the robot. ‘Not all of us are.’

‘I’m beginning to realise that,’ the robot said. He stared at the wall, the grey expanse fading away as he thought. Did he have someone like Barbara, or something like a star?

‘You find something that’s important to you,’ Havisham said, flopping back on his pillows, the strength draining from his voice. The argument seemed to have tired him. ‘It’ll help…’

‘I’ll get the nurse,’ the robot said. Then, ‘Thank you.’

Once Lieutenant Scorch was checking on Havisham, he wandered out of the hospital and into the compound. He looked around, seeing it properly for the first time in the midday sun. He had barely been conscious when he arrived and then when he was up and walking, he had been too busy ferrying casualties and then it had been dark and he could barely see a thing for shrapnel. Odd. He could have sworn they had come under heavy fire last night and yet the camp was untouched

He walked off around the compound, looking for something, though he wasn’t sure what. Someone to tell him what he was supposed to do, perhaps.

He circled a large tent and saw the words ‘The Swamp’ painted in red over the door. There was a wooden chair outside, its back legs sinking into mud that one sunny day had done nothing to dry out. Hanging off the chair was a straw hat with a motheaten black feather sticking out of it and perched on the seat was a ukulele.

He stared at them for a moment, then surreptitiously checked to see if anyone was watching. There were a few people heading into what he guessed must be the mess tent, but no one seemed to be interested in him and when he peered through the netting into the Swamp, it was empty.

Head on one side, he considered the hat for a moment. What would he look like with it on? He ran a hand over his head, his black widow’s peak with its tiny magnets holding it in place. A hat seemed like a good idea. He picked it up and tried it on. It wasn’t a bad fit, though the colour was all wrong and it wasn’t really his style. _It should be black_ , he thought.

The feel of wood under his fingers made him look down. Without meaning to, he had reached down and picked up the ukulele too.

_I was so upset when I couldn’t use my fingers,_ he recalled. _Was this why?_ Experimentally, he pulled his thumb across the strings and winced when he realised it was out of tune. Barely had the thought occurred to him, than he was tightening the pegs. His fingers seemed to remember far more than his brain did.

_I wonder what else they remember._

Once it was tuned, he plucked a few strings. The instrument felt odd in his hands, right, yet awkward, as though it were the wrong size.

A note resonated with something inside him and, unbidden, his hands played a set of chords. They were slightly different than they should be, higher, but he was close, so close. Was this what was important to him?

He reached further. There were words that went with this tune and he knew them, just like he’d known that tune someone had hummed last night in pre-op. He could almost taste them on his tongue. He took a breath.


	14. Thought and Memory

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it's been so long. I've had Covid, among other issues. This was going to be one huge chapter but I've cut it in half so there will be two shorter chapters and a little more time for me to work on the final one. Oh yes, we're nearly there.
> 
> The soundtrack has been updated. Don't know if actually fits with the story, but I like it sooo... https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLRDEpR75vlNqbzTugZEuSjAlDldCiz5E8
> 
> Yeah. Enjoy!

‘When he was a boy,

Albert wanted to play,

Down by the sea-he-he-he-he-he.

At age thirteen,

Every day after school,

He would always sa-ha-ha-ha-hail.’

Images welled up, released by the sound of the ukulele thrumming under the robot’s hands. A storm-tossed ship plunging through a fearsome sea. A gigantic walrus, larger than a skyscraper. A figure in red and black, with a tricorne hat perched on its head, cavorting and dancing. The first two were only imagery from the song itself, but the third… was that a memory?

He clung to it as his voice rose and fell, hands moving almost of their own accord. The figure moved, its arms raised in some strange movement. If it would just turn towards him, so he could see its face…

But as the song finished and the figure turned, someone broke into applause.

He started, glancing around for his audience, the image of the figure shattering.

Ginger had come out of the mess tent with Major Freedman and both of them were clapping him.

‘You didn’t tell us you could sing like that,’ Ginger said as they came over. Behind them, he could see other faces peering through the mesh walls of the mess tent.

‘I-I didn’t remember,’ he said awkwardly, the plates of his cheeks growing hot.

‘Well now you have, maybe you could give us a sing-song one of these days,’ she said, smiling, as though his illness was nothing worse than a cold. ‘Everyone would sure love to hear you. Cheers us all up.’

‘Sure…’ he found himself saying, somehow unable to refuse in the face of that charming grin. He bowed slightly to her. ‘I’d love to.’

She ducked her head for a moment and suppressed a giggle. ‘I’m due back on the ward,’ she said. ‘I look forward to the music, honey.’ She grinned again and walked on towards the hospital.

‘It’s good to see you’ve been remembering something,’ Major Freedman said.

The robot glanced at the psychiatrist, wary. The Jon and Father Mulcahy had said he should talk to him, that the major would want to help, though he couldn’t help remembering their last conversation and the crushing sense that he was simply in for a pit stop, the mental equivalent of having his tyres changed before he was sent back out into the race.

But Major Freedman was smiling gently too, though his eyes were sombre. ‘I wanted to have another chat with you,’ he said. ‘Is now all right?’

He nodded. ‘Of course, major.’ They wanted him to do this, so he would. It was the only way he could do anything to make amends for what he’d done.

‘How about in here?’ the major gestured at the door of the Swamp. ‘I doubt Hawkeye or Trapper will mind and it’s more private than the hospital or the mess tent. More comfortable, too.’

The robot nodded again and opened the door for the major.

Once inside, the major perched himself on the bunk nearest the door and gestured for the robot to take the large chair. He did so, sinking carefully into it just in case it broke. Humans didn’t like it when he broke things.

For a moment, there was silence and he shifted awkwardly, very aware of his shining silver plates in the dim light of the tent, of his big, angular frame and how at odds it was with that of the shorter human.

‘I’d like to start,’ Major Freedman said, his voice soft and measured, ‘with an apology.’

The robot opened his mouth. Last night had been… terrible. An apology couldn’t begin to solve it, but if that’s what the major wanted­—

‘I’m sorry,’ the major said and the robot closed his mouth again in surprise.

‘Why are  _ you _ apologising?’ he asked, blinking. ‘What are you sorry for?’

The major sighed. ‘For misunderstanding you and what was going on.’

The robot was more mystified than ever. He frowned and the major carried on.

‘When I came to speak to you yesterday morning, I believed I was dealing with a simple case of battle fatigue, if one that presented with more unusual symptoms.’ His eyes peered into the distance. ‘It wasn’t until last night that I realised what I’d been missing.’ His gaze snapped back to the robot, who shifted in his chair. ‘Normally, we treat battle fatigue by getting the patient used to the idea of returning to active duty. Otherwise, they actually feel worse in the long run. I didn’t realise to start with that that method of treatment was the wrong one for you and for that, I’m sorry.’

The robot stared at him, trying to work out what he meant. Did, did that mean he wasn’t going to be sent back to fight? Hope seared his core like a lit coal, only to be doused the next second by an icy bucket of realism. No. The army had invested too much in him for that to happen.

‘You don’t want to go back to the front lines, do you?’ Major Freedman asked.

The robot bit his lip. ‘No…’ he admitted, dropping his gaze.

‘Why not?’

He swallowed, trying to clear the clog of oil that had formed in his throat at the mere thought of fighting again. Of killing. His mouth opened, but the words wouldn’t come.

‘Okay.’ Major Freedman nodded. ‘We can take this as slowly as you need. If you can’t tell me that, why don’t you try telling me why you went to the front lines in the first place?’ He raised bushy, greying eyebrows.

_ Because I was ordered to. _ But there was more to it than that and Major Freedman seemed to know that. ‘To stop…’ the robot began, but his voice caught in the excess oil. He cleared his throat and tried again. ‘To stop someone being hurt.’ It still didn’t make any sense. How could going to war stop that? ‘To save someone, maybe…’

‘Who?’

The robot shook his head. He had asked himself that question so many times. They must be someone important to him.  _ Very _ important, like Barbara was to Haversham. ‘Someone important,’ he muttered, ‘but I can’t remember  _ who _ .’ His fingers curled in frustration. If they were so important, how could he forget them?

‘It’s okay,’ Major Freedman said, drawing his attention back again. ‘If you can’t remember, that’s okay. We’ll just talk about things you do remember.’ He raised his greying eyebrows. ‘Do you think you could talk about last night, what happened?’

The robot gulped but nodded. ‘When the shells started falling, I guess I forgot where I was,’ he said. ‘It was like being back on the front lines, dodging all the explosions.’ A faint frown appeared on the major’s face, but he said nothing, so the robot continued, ‘I was trying to get through, get to… whoever was in the bushes. The enemy, I thought. But I was wrong. How could I think  _ The Jon _ was the enemy?’ he burst out, staring imploringly at the major, desperate to know. ‘How could I think he was a threat?’

‘You say there were explosions?’ the major asked calmly. ‘Shells in the camp?’

‘Yeah…’ He subsided, slumping in the chair, unable to stop himself shaking. ‘They were so loud.’

‘I’m afraid this is where the battle fatigue comes in,’ Major Freedman said, leaning forward, his elbows resting on his knees. ‘You remember you asked me about the noise you kept hearing? Well, seeing and hearing things can be symptoms of battle fatigue. They can seem very real but they aren’t.’

‘You mean..?’ The robot frowned, the gears in his head working overtime.

‘The shells never reached the camp last night,’ the major explained.

‘But—’ He stared at the psychiatrist, then swivelled to peer through the walls, checking the compound for signs of damage that weren’t there. ‘But I  _ felt _ the explosions! There were bodies and barbed wire and-and green light…’

‘Green light?’ Major Freedman tilted his head to one side.

The robot nodded. ‘Yeah… Green light and people shouting and these, these  _ things _ coming towards us, kicking up the dust.’ The memory swirled around him, tantalising him. The light, the dust, the heat. Someone calling in pain. His own voice, crying out for them to be careful—

‘The Jon..’ he muttered.

‘The Jon?’

‘When the things came towards us, I heard people talking to me, I called out to them. I said ‘Jon’ and ‘Rabbit’… I  _ said _ their names!’ He stared at Major Freedman, his brain and core aching as he tried to sort through the tangle of threads, find what was true, what was real. ‘I can’t really be their brother, can I?’ He had to ask, because why else would he call out to them? ‘But if I am, why don’t I remember?’

‘It’s possible,’ the major conceded. ‘Although it is also possible that your brain used those names because people have been saying they think you are their brother.’ He leaned back again and considered the robot. ‘When I first came to see you,’ he said, casually, ‘you mentioned you dreamed about Africa…’

‘Africa…’ he repeated. Something cold skittered through all his circuits and he shuddered. The green light, the heat, the dust thrown up by the huge, skeletal forms. ‘Elephants,’ he whispered. ‘Becile’s elephants. They were what came for us, what we had to stop. We killed them.  _ I _ killed them.’ He shook again, his plates rattling against each other until he was sure his screws must work themselves loose.

‘You killed elephants?’ The major’s voice, a strong note of concern in it, drifted to him across a vast distance.

‘They were machines,’ the robot said, his eyes fixed on the scene from his past, the scene he  _ remembered _ . His core pulsed and spun. ‘We killed their operators. Maybe they were already dead, they were fused into the controls, they looked like corpses, but… What if they weren’t? What if they were still alive, through all that? I killed them, I killed them.’

‘It’s okay,’ said Major Freedman again and his voice dispelled some of the dust, the memories that had wrapped themselves around him like a blindfold. ‘It’s okay. Look at me.’

With an effort, the robot did. He felt the old chair underneath him, smelt unwashed socks from the pile of laundry under one of the cots, saw Major Freedman’s concern. The back of his shirt ripped and his cooling fins slid out, releasing a cloud of steam.

‘It’s okay,’ the major said again. ‘You’ve remembered something. That’s good. But I don’t think we’ll go any further with that, not today.’

The robot nodded, sagging in his chair. His joints rattled as he shivered, trying to fight down the horror of the memory. Would he ever remember anything but fighting? Or was that really all there was for him?

Yawning, Henry opened the door to his tent and walked crookedly out of it, his striped dressing gown flapping around his knees. Whatever the time was, it was too early to be getting up after the shift they’d had last night, but he was back on duty soon, so he didn’t have a choice. Someone had to keep the hospital running, although why it had to be him, he was never quite sure.

A shower, that was what he needed. A nice, hot shower, followed by about a gallon of rich, black coffee. Oh, well. The tepid water supply and the industrial run-off they served in the mess tent would just have to suffice.

He zeroed in on the shower tent and stumbled across the compound towards it. Then he stopped dead. ‘Radar?’

The corporal stood completely still in the middle of the camp, clipboard hanging forgotten by his side and his face crumpled in worry. He didn’t even seem to notice Henry’s arrival,  _ Radar _ , the boy who could tell what you were thinking five minutes before you could.

‘Radar?’ he said again. ‘What’s the matter?’ Something had to be very wrong for his clerk to neglect his duties like this.

‘Hmm?’ Radar looked round, then his eyes focused sharply on Henry’s face and he jumped a foot in the air. ‘Oh! I’m sorry, sir, I’ll get you those papers right away!’

‘Radar,’ Henry said, as the corporal made to dash across the compound.

‘Sir?’

‘What papers?’

‘Ah…’ Radar’s face scrunched up again. ‘The ones you asked for, sir?’

‘I didn’t ask you for any papers,’ Henry explained, patiently. ‘You don’t have to jump like a jackrabbit. All I asked you was what was wrong.’

‘Oh…’ Radar shuffled his feet, fidgeting with his clipboard. He glanced over Henry’s shoulder.

Henry followed his gaze and saw the tent Rabbit and The Jon were staying in. ‘Is it something to do with our robots?’ he asked.

Radar nodded. ‘We, er…’ he began.

Henry wished he could put his arm around the boy, put him at ease. He was practically the boy’s father in any case. But this was the army. You weren’t supposed to informally adopt the enlisted men. He settled for an encouraging word. ‘Look,’ he said, feeling awkward standing in the middle of camp in his dressing gown, ‘whatever it is that’s on your mind, maybe I can help. But you gotta tell me what it is, first.’

‘Well, er…’ Radar looked down at his boots. He was sweating although whether that was because of nerves or because he was still wearing his woollen hat even in the stifling heat of the Korean summer, Henry wasn’t sure. ‘We got a call yesterday, sir, from the 38th. They-they want Rabbit and The Jon back. As soon as possible, they said.’

‘What?’ Henry gazed at his corporal, hoping that the clerk was wrong. Even though he knew full well that Radar was never wrong about army stuff. ‘But we can’t send them back yet. The Jon nearly died last night! And what about The Spine? Are they just supposed to leave him?’

‘I know, sir,’ Radar said, still staring at the ground. ‘But it was Colonel Macy’s orders, sir. I had to tell them just now. They’re getting ready to leave.’ He bit his lip.

_ Goddamn it, this isn’t  _ fair _! _ Henry clenched his jaw.  _ Bad enough the army can’t stop tearing the robots apart, why do they have to make Radar feel like he’s let them down? _ He stared at Radar, at the sweat on his forehead, the reddened eyes behind glasses even grubbier than usual and at the restless fingers fiddling with the clipboard, a pencil, the edge of his shirt.

The decision came to him quite suddenly and without warning, as clear and solid as a freshly-cut diamond. There was no agonising, no soul-searching, no fear of what would happen if he made the wrong choice. He knew exactly what he was going to do and nothing was going to stop him doing it.

‘Radar,’ he said quietly. ‘Get me the 38th Infantry. Now.’

In the office, he stood calmly behind Radar’s chair, waiting for the clerk to get through, humming with that same, unshakeable resolution. The passing time didn’t break it, didn’t touch it. If anything, it only grew colder and harder as the seconds ticked by, as Radar grew more and more frustrated with the clerk at the 38th and eventually resorted to threats to get Colonel Macy on the line.

At last, Radar said, ‘Colonel Macy? Lieutenant Colonel Henry Blake for you, sir,’ and he held out the receiver for Henry and vacated the chair.

Henry took the phone but not the chair. ‘Good afternoon, Colonel,’ he said, some of the steel within him already seeping into his voice. ‘My clerk tells me you’ve ordered Rabbit and The Jon to report back to your unit. Well, I’m sorry, Colonel,’ he carried on, before Macy could utter a word, ‘but I can’t let you have them back just yet.’

‘Oh?’ said the deep, crackly voice on the other end of the line. ‘And why’s that?’

‘We’ve got their brother here,’ Henry said, eyeballing the wall as thought it was Colonel Macy himself, ‘and they might be the only chance we have of patching him back together.’

‘Their brother?’ Was it his imagination, or was there actual sympathy in the Colonel’s voice? ‘Well, that’s a mighty shame, but we need those two, they’re some of the best medics we’ve got. I’m sure you and the engineers will figure out how to repai—’

‘I’m not talking about that!’ Henry cut in. The cold diamond and steel inside him were suddenly swallowed by flame. ‘We’ve done all the repair work we can. I’m talking about his mind. I’m talking about these robots as  _ people _ .’

‘I—’

‘They’re a  _ family _ and the army’s already ripped them apart. One of ‘em damn near lost his mind!’ He was shouting at a superior officer, but he couldn’t have cared less. This was  _ right _ . ‘You force Rabbit and The Jon to leave now and  _ they’ll _ break.’

There was silence from the phone now, except for the harsh crackle of the static.

‘They’ll came all the way here and their brother didn’t even recognise ‘em. And I’ll walk into North Korea with a target painted on my head before I let anyone screw up their lives even more.’ He took a deep breath. ‘You can take ‘em today and in a few weeks’ time they’ll be broken men ‘cos they don’t have a clue whether their brother ever remembered them or not, or you can wait until they’re good and ready and you’ll get two medics who’ll work like you’ve never seen.’ His voice cut through the static like razor wire. ‘So. What’s it gonna be, Colonel?’

Above the pounding in his ears, he heard Radar whisper, ‘Wow…’

He gripped the phone, waiting for the answer, the static filling his ear. Adrenaline set his hands shaking and a bead of sweat formed on his brow. Had he just tossed his whole career away for the robots?  _ What am I gonna tell Lorraine? _

‘Well, that’s quite a speech, Colonel Blake,’ Macy said at last. ‘I gotta say, I admire your guts. There’s not many in this army who’d speak up for someone like that.’

‘If this leading up to telling me you still want them today…’ Henry warned, his hand hurting he was holding the phone so tightly. He was  _ not _ going to stand for that, even if his legs were starting to shake.

‘It’s not,’ the Colonel said. ‘You’re a doctor, aren’t you, Colonel Blake?’

‘I am.’ Where was this going?

‘And is it your medical opinion that these boys shouldn’t come back to their unit yet?’ There was a subtle emphasis on the words ‘medical opinion’.

Henry nodded, forgetting the Colonel couldn’t see him. ‘You bet it is.’ He didn’t need to be a specialist to see they weren’t going to be able to take much more. A cautious flicker of hope sparked somewhere among the fire and the steel.

‘Then,’ Colonel Macy continued, ‘tell them to keep me posted and I’ll expect them back when their brother’s in better shape.’ He paused, then added, ‘I hope he does recover. Your brother not remembering you? That must be pretty rough on them.’

Henry swallowed. ‘You mean—’ He couldn’t bring himself to believe it. No one in the army was ever this reasonable.

‘I mean I’m not calling Rabbit and The Jon back today, Blake. I’ll want them back eventually, but for now I think they should stay with you.’

‘Th-thank you, sir.’ He couldn’t think of anything else to say and the shock made t hard to get his tongue round the words. The anger leaked away, leaving him to the after-effects of the adrenaline.

‘Well, if you’re right about the state they’re in, then it’s more efficient in the long run,’ the Colonel said, evenly. Then his voice softened, just a fraction. ‘And your medical opinion gives me a good reason to be human. We all get tired of the war, Colonel Blake.’

Henry muttered something vague. He sank into the chair and felt Radar take the phone from his hand.

‘Goodbye, sir,’ he heard him say.

Henry stared at the desk, the full realisation crashing over him of what he had just done. What on  _ earth _ had possessed him to pick a fight with a superior like that? Then he glanced up at Radar, who was trembling with anxiety and excitement.

‘Well, sir?’

This was why he’d done it. And, somewhere deep inside himself, he knew that he’d do it again in a heartbeat.

He stood up again, persuading his legs to take his weight, and let a grin spread across his face. Oh, but this was worth it.

‘Radar, you’d better run and tell Rabbit and The Jon to cancel their taxi. They’re staying with us.’

Rabbit blinked as Radar told them the good news. If it was really true, if Colonel Blake wasn’t going to get in trouble…

Something shifted inside his core. It tickled him, sliding upwards like a large bubble. He grinned, then let the laughter burst out from him. He grabbed his brother’s arms and swung him in a large circle, barely missing Radar, who backed away.

‘We’re s-staying!’ Rabbit whooped.

The Jon tore off his battered cap and threw it high in the air. It caught in the camouflage netting hung over the tents and Rabbit laughed harder than ever.

He turned his gaze on Radar and his smile grew still wider. He started towards the corporal who looked alarmed.

‘You’re not gonna swing me round too, are you?’ Radar asked.

Rabbit cackled.

‘Oh no, I don’t want to,’ Radar said hastily, backing away.

‘Hey, J-Jon?’ Rabbit said, in a stage whisper that could probably wake people in Seoul. ‘He’s Radar, right? Do you think if we swung him round our heads, he could home in on something?’

‘Rabbit, that’s meeaan,’ The Jon said, just as Radar cried,

‘Oh no!’ He took off across the compound, Rabbit haring after him. They dodged three times around the Swamp, wove in and out of the officers’ tents, slipping on the mud, and wound up outside the hospital, with Radar penned in the corner between two of the wings. He was panting heavily and his glasses had steamed up.

Rabbit feinted left, then shot right as Radar tried to make a break for it. He grabbed hold of him and gave him an enormous, careful hug. A moment later, The Jon had joined in too.

‘Were you guys really gonna swing me round your heads?’ Radar asked as he emerged from the embrace with his glasses crooked and his beanie nearly down to his eyes.

‘Naah,’ The Jon assured him. ‘Rabbit just likes teasing people.’

Rabbit grinned. ‘Th-thanks,’ he said to Radar.

‘Oh, I didn’t do nothing,’ the corporal said, modestly. ‘It was Colonel Blake.’

A hissing sound filled the air and a tall figure appeared around the side of the Swamp, bleeding steam from its back.

The grin slid off of Rabbit’s face and he bit his lip. Had The Spine remembered anything yet? Remembered them? He certainly seemed to be peering over at them in a curious way.

‘Ha-ha-has he..?’

‘I don’t know…’ The Jon murmured. ‘I think something’s happening. But I don’t know what. He’s still hurting.’

‘Well, at least you guys can stick around to help now,’ said Hawkeye’s voice behind them, making them both jump. Radar didn’t jump though. ‘Henry tells me you’re staying with us a while longer.’

Rabbit nodded. His steam pressure had shot up from the shock and he pushed a cloud of vapour out through his cheek vents.

‘I can’t believe Henry actually did that,’ Hawkeye continued, coming to stand next to them. He had his red dressing gown on over his fatigues, instead of his white coat, and his chin was covered in dark stubble. ‘The worm turned after all.’

Rabbit nodded again. He watched The Spine head past them into the hospital, his face folded in a familiar look of puzzlement, the look The Spine wore whenever he was trying to work something out. There was still no recognition in his face. Rabbit’s bellows seemed to have filled with lead. They might be staying, but would that really make a difference? They had been around him for days; surely if they were going to jog The Spine’s memory, they would have done so by now?

‘You okay?’ Hawkeye asked.

Rabbit looked up and realised the doctor was looking straight at him. ‘Fine,’ he said, trying to fend off questions.

It didn’t work.

‘Really?’ Hawkeye asked, raising his eyebrows. ‘‘Cos I could use the steam you’re pumping out to run a train on. If steam pressure’s anything like blood pressure, I’d be worried about your valves.’

‘It is,’ The Jon said, concern etching itself across his face as he gazed at Rabbit. ‘It’s okay, Rabbit,’ he added, peering into Rabbit’s face with his blue eyes as wide as they could be. ‘He’ll remember.’

‘Yeah,’ Hawkeye agreed. ‘Sidney won’t rest until he gets to the bottom of this. He’s handled cases you wouldn’t believe.’

Rabbit tried another smile, tried to force himself into feeling hopeful, but the leaden weight still lay on his bellows. ‘I-I-I just wish we c-could help more…’ he admitted.

‘Did you guys try music in the end?’ Radar piped up. ‘You said you were going to last… last night.’

Rabbit blinked. ‘Y-Yeah, we did,’ he said, remembering. The tumult of the last day had wiped the memory from his head. But now he thought back to how they had been humming ‘Automatonic Electronic Harmonics’ and how The Spine, without even realising it, had joined in. ‘He remembered the song,’ he breathed. ‘He remembered the words. Do you think..?’

‘I do!’ Hawkeye said, grinning. He rubbed his hands together. ‘I’ve got an idea.’


	15. The Spine

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As it's been a long time since I posted them, you might want to re-read Chapters 2-5. Some of this might make more sense if you remember what happened in those ones.

Fog had rolled back over the camp again, just as it had the day the robot had arrived. It pressed against the mesh walls of the Swamp, where he and the major were once again talking, so it seemed like early evening, rather than mid-morning.

The gears in his head had been clicking round at double speed ever since their conversation yesterday. He had called out to Rabbit and The Jon, as though he knew them. But no matter how hard he strained, pacing the dark compound when he had been unable to fall asleep, he hadn’t been able to drag his memories out of that yawning chasm.

‘What did you want to talk about?’ he asked, as they settled in their spots, the major on Hawkeye’s bunk, the robot in Hawkeye’s chair. Steam pressure built as nerves hummed through him. Ginger had sewn his ripped shirt back together, leaving holes for his fins to slide out. It didn’t stop him feeling awkward about them, but at least he wouldn’t ruin any more clothes.

‘Oh, whatever you feel like,’ Major Freedman said. ‘The weather, the camp, what you think of Klinger’s latest dress. Personally, I’d give him a Section 8 just for trying to match it with that purse.’

Without meaning to, the robot let out a laugh, along with a cloud of steam and some of his nerves.

They chatted together for a time. From Klinger’s dresses, they moved on to Hawk and Trapper’s most famous exploits and their ability to get away unscathed from absolutely anything. The robot told the major about the book Father Mulcahy had leant him and they compared the relative merits of Lord Peter Wimsey and Hercule Poirot. The robot didn’t even think to wonder when he had read Agatha Christie.

Eventually, they worked their way back round to the people at MASH and they both agreed that they were, for the most part, very good people.

‘What about your old unit?’ Major Freedman asked casually. ‘What did you think about them?’

Leaning forward, elbows on his knees, the robot stiffened, feeling his steam pressure increase again. ‘They were good soldiers,’ he said. ‘The best.’ They’d had to be, to do what they’d done to him.

‘Ah-huh. And did you like them?’

He sat back in the chair, the question sticking into him like a pin.

‘No one else will know what you tell me,’ the major said, as he were commenting on the weather.

‘I—’ It was a terrible thing to say. No matter how they’d treated him, they were all dead now, every one of them. But the major was expecting the truth from him. ‘I hated them,’ he muttered, staring at an unwashed t-shirt that lay abandoned on the floor so he didn’t have to see Major Freedman’s face.

‘All of them? Was there anyone you liked?’ There was no judgement in that voice, none at all.

The robot looked up in surprise and saw only mild interest in the major’s face.

Gunfire. The bullet bouncing off his plates. ‘…One. Toby. Toby King.’

‘And what’s Toby like?’

And somehow, without quite meaning to, the robot found himself spilling it all out to the major. How kind and respectful Toby had been. How Toby had died. The guilt bit deep, gnawing at his core like a rat with a wire, and his hands shook on his knees.

‘It was an accident,’ Major Freedman said, leaning forward and looking him square in the eye. ‘You tried to save someone, this other fellow, Stephens. You couldn’t have known what would happen. Who’s to say that if you hadn’t moved, Toby might not have died anyway? Or maybe Stephens would have been hit after all.’ He sighed. ‘We like to blame ourselves because it puts us in control, but no one can stop people dying in a war, no matter how good their decisions are, no matter how good a doctor or a soldier they are.’

The robot saw his own grief, his own guilt mirrored in the major’s steady gaze. Here was another man who was forced to confront over and over again that he could never do enough. But something scurried through his chest again, sharp little claws stabbing into him.

‘You’re right,’ he admitted. ‘Our best isn’t enough, but—But Stephens died because of me too,’ he said. ‘They all did. The _whole unit_.’ Fire flashed across his mind’s eye, followed by the scream of a plummeting shell. ‘That wasn’t my best, was it? If I’d got here quicker, maybe I could saved Stephens at least….’

Major Freedman opened his mouth, paused as though making up his mind what to say, then asked, ‘Why don’t you take me through what happened before you arrived here?’

The robot shivered, the memories running stronger. Cords against his plates, metal in the moonlight. Pain. ‘O-okay…’

‘Just take it slow,’ the major said and his voice, so calm and assured, helped steady him.

Where had it all started? With Toby’s death? Or when he’d been driven out to his new unit, when they had first seen their secret weapon?

‘They never liked me,’ he began, his voice barely more than a whisper. ‘I tried, but I was always too different.’ Not just different. _Wrong._ ‘It was worse after Toby died. They hated me for that, for killing one of their own.’ He swallowed, remembering Stephens in his face, the man’s breath, knowing what was about to happen. ‘Stephens… He even accused me of betraying them to the enemy. I’d never do that, I _can’t_ do that, but…’ The familiar anger stirred inside him and the guilt squirmed and gnawed on his pistons. The captain had saved him. _That_ time.

‘Why can’t you?’

‘Because if I disobey orders, someone’ll get hurt.’ It wasn’t an explanation, it was too vague, but it was all he had.

‘Is this the same someone you came here to protect?’ the major asked.

The robot nodded and a great cloud of steam filled the tent as he sighed, relived that Freedman had understood. His fins slid out too, wicking the heat away from his core as the guilt and anger sent it into overdrive.

‘You want to take a minute?’ Major Freedman offered but the robot shook his head.

‘I’m okay,’ he insisted. He was used to bringing himself under control, to stopping himself from feeling the anger and the pain. He took a deep, steadying breath and continued.

‘Stephens nearly started on me once, but the captain happened to walk past. Saved me. But…’ He fought to get the words out, struggling against the memories that rose, high as a tidal wave, threatening to overwhelm him.

‘Let me guess. Stephens came back?’ the major asked, drily.

‘Yes…’ And he told the major everything that had happened that night. How Stephens and his buddies had waited until he had fallen asleep, then bound and gagged him so he couldn’t shout for help and couldn’t get enough leverage to break his bonds. They’d dragged him off into the jungle where no one would hear the clang of metal on metal. They’d got hold of his tool kit, used the equipment he needed to repair himself to take him apart, the hammer he used for beating out dents to beat them in.

They’d cut the ropes, gathered up the tools and ambled back to camp, knowing he would return and repair himself and carry on, because he had to. And if he didn’t, then Stephens would have been right about him all along. A freak that couldn’t be trusted. It had probably trotted off to join the Communists.

He’d just about managed to pick himself up, started stumbling back to camp, pain blistering his every cog, his head swimming and his vision twisting.

And then the shelling had started, not in his head for once, but for real. The enemy must have found their position and fired on them, to try to take him out before he could knock out their guns as he had done before.

He hadn’t been there. But his unit had.

He felt himself shaking as the words came spilling out of his mouth, felt the steam pouring out of his back, but all he could see was the hellscape that had once been his unit’s camp, the blazing tents, the thick black smoke, the shattered fragments of what had once been people. People who had hated him, but people nonetheless. People he’d done nothing to save.

He’d searched, combing through the wreckage, shells blasting him off his feet, tearing holes in his plating, and at last he’d found someone who was still alive. Only just, but still alive. Stephens.

So he’d levered up the jeep the man had been trapped under, picked him up as gently as he could and staggered out of the camp. The radio had been blasted into shrapnel so all he could do was walk and keep walking and hope he got there in time.

Something touched his hand and he flinched. But it was only the major, squeezing his hand with one of his own.

‘You couldn’t have made it in time,’ Major Freedman said gently. The robot opened his mouth to protest, but the major stopped him. ‘I want you to listen very carefully to me. When you arrived here, people were scared, weren’t they? They didn’t seem to want to help.’

The robot nodded his head silently, the memories loosening their terrible grip on him. He hadn’t understood that, at the time or since, why they hadn’t wanted to help Stephens.

‘It was because Stephens was already dead.’

‘That was what they said, but he wasn’t,’ he protested, remembering. ‘He was just wounded. It was bad, but—’

‘I’m sorry,’ the major interrupted him firmly, but still softly, ‘but he really was dead. He had been for several days.’

The robot blinked. ‘What?’ What on earth did the major mean? How could Stephens have been dead for several days? It had only been… How long had it been, between pulling Stephens out of the wreckage and reaching MASH? He shook his head, trying to remember, but his brain hadn’t been working properly and the time had all blurred together.

‘He had been dead for a while. He was… decomposing,’ the major said, grimacing. ‘That’s why everyone you met, they were scared.’

It made a sick sort of sense. Except… ‘But why didn’t I see it? How come I thought he was alive?’

Major Freedman considered. ‘From what you’ve told me, I think you were so desperate to be able to save _someone_ that you convinced yourself there was someone you could save. Between that and your injuries, it’s not that surprising you weren’t seeing things straight. The only thing that does surprise me is that you reached here at all.’

His breathing hitched and the steam pressure built up in his pipes again. He was vaguely aware of the tent filling with white clouds. It had been foggy when he’d arrived. A tall shape lurching out of the fog, clutching a rotting corpse. No wonder those soldiers had fired at him. He must have looked like some kind of ghoul. A monster. And it hadn’t even been worth it, because he couldn’t have saved Stephens.

‘We can’t stop everyone dying,’ the major reminded him, ‘but it occurs to me…’ He paused and waited until the robot looked up and met his eyes again. ‘It occurs to me that your unit brought a lot of it on themselves. If they hadn’t damaged you so bad, maybe you would have been able to do more to save them.’

‘But if they hadn’t,’ the robot said, following that thought to its logical conclusion, because logic offered a momentary shelter from the guilt and confusion, ‘I would have been in camp when the shells hit.’

It was the major’s turn to nod now. ‘You might be dead. Our actions don’t always have the consequences we intended. We can’t control all those effects.’

The robot dropped his gaze back to his feet. ‘I thought talking to you was supposed to make things easier,’ he muttered. ‘But I’ve got even more to think about now.’

Major Freedman smiled sympathetically. ‘Sometimes that’s what it takes. Like if you’re moving furniture. You gotta take everything out of place in order to get it back in. Why don’t we take a break here?’ he went on. ‘Take some time to think about this stuff, but don’t wear yourself out. Make sure you get some sleep tonight.’

How has the major known he hadn’t slept last night? But then, he realised, a large robot with glowing eyes pacing the compound and breathing steam was quite hard to miss, no matter how late at night it was.

He took Major Freedman’s advice and managed to get some rest that night. The sleep had done him good and he headed to their next session with slightly less confused thoughts. The furniture had not been put back into place yet but he was starting to see where it might go.

The Swamp was empty again when he arrived. He wasn’t sure if its inhabitants were avoiding him for some reason or were just making sure that he and the major always had total privacy. He sat himself down in his usual chair, positioning himself carefully in case his weight proved too much for the rickety old thing, and waited for Major Freedman to arrive.

His thoughts drifted back to the same question he’d been pondering ever since his conversation with Haversham. What was important to him? Who was he trying to protect by being here? It was like a road he couldn’t find the turning off of. He just kept tramping round, beating the ground smoother every time he trod it.

_I’m trying to protect someone…_ he thought, trying to jog his memory. _But how can I do that by_ killing? _I’m trying to protect someone. Rabbit and The Jon? But why can’t I remember? Protect someone, keep them safe, look after them…_

_‘You’ll look after them for me, won’t you?’_

His gears locked and ground against each other as the words finally clicked something deep inside. That voice… It meant something. Safety, warmth, belonging. Things entirely separate from the war.

_‘You’ll look after them for me, won’t you?’_ There was a face now, to go with the voice. Long, thin and angular, with shocks of dark hair sticking up in front.

_‘Of course, Pappy. You know I will.’_ His own voice drifted through from the past.

‘Good morning.’

He jerked, his gears releasing again and looked up to see the major standing in front of him.

‘I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to startle you,’ Freedman said, sitting down in his usual spot.

‘No, it’s okay.’ Excitement, and something suspiciously like happiness, jumped through his circuits. ‘I-I just remembered something!’

A grin split the major’s face. ‘Hey,’ he said. ‘How about that. What did you remember?’

He explained and the psychiatrist’s smile grew even wider, making his moustache twitch.

‘If you keep remembering things without me, I’m gonna feel like I’m not needed anymore,’ he said. ‘Now, let’s see if we can’t get some more where that came from. What happened before you came to Korea?’

His core pulsed and he fidgeted. ‘U-upgrades,’ he said, his voice shaking. ‘I was given upgrades. By the army.’

‘You didn’t want them?’ The major’s voice had resumed that tone of calm sympathy he had used the day before.

The robot shook his head. ‘They took away my smokestacks, gave me these fins, a whole new… spine. They gave me other things too, things I can’t talk about.’ He stared hard at the unlit stove in the middle of the tent, trying to stop the memories from engulfing him. They were some he could quite happily do without. ‘They made me better at fighting, at _killing_. I-I don’t want to be good at that!’ His voice cracked. The happiness of a few moments earlier had evaporated in the heat of his churning core.

‘Who sent you to get the upgrades?’ asked the major. His calm helped steady the robot, helped him push down the panic and the guilt.

A noise started somewhere, quiet, indistinct. The major’s eyes flicked sideways, then back again.

‘General Murdock,’ he said, slowly, as the question stirred memories that hadn’t quite been lost, just pushed away. The name brought another face with it. The face should have been bland, unremarkable, but steel flashed in the eyes, the mouth hard, like two strands of wire. He shivered and said, ‘He’s the one I have to protect them from.’ He wasn’t sure where the words had come from, but they were true and more were rising out of that chasm in his mind, fragments of memory that cut him like shrapnel. Somewhere, there was music playing.

_The robot waited until he was sure the others were out of earshot._ Others? _He didn’t want them to hear this. ‘Please, don’t take us, sir.’_

_‘All three of you have been requisitioned by the United States Army, robot.’ The general looked him up and down, like a farmer assessing the cattle he planned to buy. ‘We need you out in Korea.’_

_If he’d had flesh, it would have crawled under that gaze. His core seemed to shrink in his chest. ‘But you can’t, sir, not after everything that’s hap—’_

_‘I can and I will.’ Murdock’s voice cracked out and the robot flinched. ‘I wouldn’t expect a machine to understand, but our boys are dying out there. We need an edge, a weapon the enemy doesn’t have.’_

_‘Weapon?’ He swayed on the spot, his heavy smokestacks nearly pulling him over. ‘Then… the upgrades you mentioned?’ No._ Please, _no. Not again._

_General Murdock frowned and the sight made the robot tremble. ‘We’ll have to sort that balance out as well,’ he said to himself. ‘I’ll make a note for the technicians.’_

_‘But we’ve always just helped before,’ the robot said, failing to keep the thread of panic out of his voice. ‘Couldn’t we do that again? Work as medics?’_

_‘We have medics,’ the general said contemptuously. ‘What we need is firepower. We didn’t use you properly in the last war, so I’m gonna make damn sure we do in this one.’_

_‘You want us on the front lines?’ the robot whispered. The scents of Africa washed over him for a moment, dust and hot metal and blood._

_‘Of course,’ Murdock said impatiently. ‘You’ll each be given an extensive overhaul before you’re shipped out, systems, weapons, the works. The Reds won’t know what hit them,’ he added, smiling for the first time since he’d come to the house. His lips curved, thin and cruel as barbed wire._

_The robot’s oil lines ran cold and his gears seemed to slip against each other. The others would never survive, not after what had happened in the Becile laboratories…_ What others? _But telling Murdock that wasn’t going to help. Or maybe it would. Maybe there was a way._

_‘Sir,’ he said, puffing steam from his smokestacks, forcing himself to bottle up the anger and the fear running through his circuits, ‘with respect, that might not be a good idea.’_

_‘Oh?’ General Murdock lifted an eyebrow. The smile stayed in place, tinged with cold amusement._

_‘The others…’ He had to phrase this right, had to be careful. ‘They aren’t good at obeying orders.’ This was perfectly true. ‘Their systems have taken a lot of damage over the years.’ This was also true, though it wasn’t the reason they were disobedient. ‘I’m sorry, sir, but I doubt your technicians understand our mechanics as well as Pa— as our creator did and if they don’t, then upgrades would only put excess strain on our systems. The others would probably break down all together.’ Again, the truth. Having to go through that again, to kill again, to have their bodies improved just so they’d be better at murder. It would break them all._

_‘Really. How convenient,’ Murdock said drily. ‘I’ll just have to take that risk, I’m afraid.’_

_No! ‘Sir, it’s the truth!’ But Murdock wasn’t going to believe him, not until it was too late. His shoulders slumped, steam hissing from his back._

_‘And what about you?’ Murdock asked, looking him up and down once more. ‘Are you ready to break down too?’_

_His eyes met Murdock’s, blue, like shards of river ice. ‘No, sir. I—’_

I don’t want to. I don’t want to kill again. Don’t make me.

‘ _I’ll come with you,’ he whispered. ‘I’ll take all the upgrades, I’ll do everything you want, obey ever order, just don’t take the others…’_

_Murdock snorted. ‘Very touching, robot, but no deal. We need you all.’_

_‘Well, can they be medics at least? Just, please don’t make them fight. Please…’ he begged. His voice trailed off and he shook again, unable to meet the general’s eyes any longer. He was the one made of steel, but Murdock’s gaze bore a hole right through him, stabbing him into place like a pin through a butterfly._

_The general smiled again, that same, sharp, predatory smile. ‘Colonel Walter did a fine job with you, didn’t he? I could almost believe you were human.’ He took out a cigarette case, extracted one and struck a match on the mantelpiece. ‘All right,’ he said, lighting the cigarette, ‘I’ll agree to your deal.’_

_The robot sagged again, this time in relief._

_But the general hadn’t finished. ‘For the moment,’ he added, shaking the match out and puffing out his own cloud of smoke._

_‘For the moment?’ No! They were supposed to be safe, he was supposed to protect them!_

_‘No doubt the scientists will want a chance to do more tests in the field before they upgrade you all,’ Murdock went on, dropping the matchstick carelessly on the floor, ‘and I know I’d prefer to have one willing soldier under my command than three unwilling ones.’ He took a step closer and the robot had to force himself not to back away, not to sink down into a corner like a frightened child. ‘Willing soldiers fight harder, you see?’ Murdock’s voice was soft, quiet, laced with poison. ‘And you will be willing, won’t you? Because unless you do_ everything _we tell you, robot, I’ll have the other two up on the lines with the guns faster than blinking.’_

The memory released him and he fell forward, catching himself on his knees. ‘I couldn’t let it happen to them,’ he gasped, ‘not again.’ He could still hear the music, growing closer. Was he hearing things again?

‘Let what happen to who?’ Major Freedman asked.

‘Having to kill people. It hurts… Hurts so much. I couldn’t let them go through that. It would break them.’

‘But it broke you…’ the major said, so softly he almost didn’t catch it.

‘Better me than them. They nearly… in Africa… We never wanted to fight!’ he burst out, the words tumbling from his mouth as he struggled against the tide of guilt and fear. Black smudges blurred his vision as oil welled up in his eye sockets. ‘We wanted to play music. That’s what Pappy built us for.’

That music, it was familiar. He’d heard it the other night, in pre-op. He’d remembered some of the words. The sound steadied him, draining some of the fear away.

‘Pappy… You mentioned him before.’

‘Colonel Peter A. Walter I.’ The name sprang, fully formed, from his mouth and something stirred within him. His eyes widened as he teetered on the edge of that yawning gulf where his memories should be. The song finished and began again. He opened his mouth and as he fell into the chasm, the words rose to meet him.

‘Ever since the first time I opened my eyes,

I’ve awakened to the same thing.

Other automaton friends, roughly built like me-e-e.’

Images flashed past him, muddled together but falling back into place.

_Playing at the Cavalcadium… for Delilah…_

_Peters II and III… and IV and little Peter V._

_Africa._

_Rabbit._

_The Jon._

‘Others?’ the major asked.

The Spine looked up. ‘My brothers…’ he whispered, the oil spilling over from his photoreceptors and coursing down his face plates. ‘Rabbit, The Jon.’ He glanced around and, sure enough, there they were, lurking behind the tent with Hawkeye, Trapper and a ukulele, playing ‘Automatonic Electronic Harmonics’. More tears trickled down his cheeks. ‘I-I _forgot_ them,’ he sobbed, turning back to gaze at Major Freedman. ‘How could I _do_ that? _Why?_ I love them, don’t I?’

‘Did you forget them right away?’ the major asked, lifting his eyebrows.

The Spine thought back to when he’d first arrived in Korea. ‘No…’ he admitted. ‘But it hurt more and more to think about them… So I stopped. And then I couldn’t anymore.’

‘From what you’ve told me,’ Major Freedman said, offering The Spine one of Hawkeye’s old t-shirts to use as a handkerchief, ‘and everything I’ve observed, I think you forgot _because_ you love them.’

The Spine frowned, trying to understand. He loved his brothers, he wanted to keep them safe. All the time, even when he’d forgotten who they were, he’d remembered that impulse, that drive.

‘When did it start hurting to think about them?’ the major asked.

‘When-when I killed…’ He remembered that agony, that old wound ripping open again for the first time since Africa, how it deepened with every person he slaughtered. Couldn’t let his brothers go through that. They were too gentle. Unlike him. He killed, they didn’t. He was different, _wrong_. He didn’t deserve them.

Acid snaked its way through his pipes. That was how he’d got to this point, with nothing but guilt and fear and grief to keep him company. He’d even forgotten his own name, because it was a tie to all the things that were too painful to remember. ‘Lieutenant’ was the war. ‘The Spine’ was home, family. One stayed, one was lost.

‘I know it’s painful,’ Freedman said, ‘but the fact you’ve remembered is fantastic. But it’s only the first step. What we need to work on now, is making sure it doesn’t happen again.’

The Spine wiped his face, leaving black smears on Hawkeye’s shirt, and nodded. He didn’t ever want to lose so much again. He didn’t ever want to become _this_ , to turn himself into a war machine again.

Brigadier General Crandell Clayton yawned surreptitiously, hoping his aide didn’t notice. He picked up the mail the man had dropped onto his desk and sifted through it. Most letters were opened by his staff, but there were always a few that were For His Eyes Only.

He stopped as he came to an envelope addressed in a hand he recognised. That overbearing prude, Major Burns, from the 4077th. Oh well. He’d better get this one over with quickly, get it out the way. Then he could deal with the things that were actually important.

He ripped the envelope open, unfolded the letter and skimmed it.

_Dear General Clayton,_

_I have vital military intelligence for you which, I am afraid, other members of this unit have seen fit to keep from you…_

The usual blather from Burns, as he’d expected. Nothing impor—

He froze, went back to the top of the letter and read it through, thoroughly this time.

There had been rumours. Not of the two robotic medics, those he already knew about, but a third. One the army had been keeping secret from all but the topmost generals, of which he was not one. But he thought he knew who was among that number.

Crandell sucked at his teeth, considering. This could be rather a feather in his cap. Or even another star in his cap.

He cleared his throat and his aide looked up.

‘Yes, General?’

‘Get General Murdock on the phone,’ he said. ‘Immediately.’


	16. That'll Be The Way Home

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is it. The end. Thank you all for reading this. I can't tell you how much it means to me hearing that people have enjoyed it.
> 
> The soundtrack is still up and I've updated it. Check it out if you want, but it's honestly not that good.  
> https://www.youtube.com/playlist?list=PLRDEpR75vlNqbzTugZEuSjAlDldCiz5E8
> 
> This'll be it for fan fiction from me for a while. I need to concentrate on my original writing for once. But I'll be back and I hope you'll all do me the honour of reading my stuff again when I return. Stay safe and I love you all (platonically).

‘Hawkeye,’ Trapper muttered as the four of them squelched across the compound towards the Swamp, ‘when you said you had an idea, I was kind hoping it would be something good.’

‘What do you mean? It’s a great idea!’ Hawk frowned and Trapper rolled his eyes,

‘Hawk, they’re going to play for their brother anyway, all you did was insist we have to sneak up on him.’

Hawkeye shook his head, peering ahead to make sure The Spine hadn’t noticed their presence. ‘Nah, if we just go in and sit down and play, he’ll have too much pressure on him,’ he said, gesturing at them all. ‘This way, it’s more… subtle.’

‘Subtle? You?’ Trapper grinned, breathing heavily. The fog had almost cleared but the thick, damp heat hadn’t and each breath was a physical effort, like there was a sponge lodged in his trachea. At least he wasn’t the one having to sing. He glanced round at their companions. ‘Hey, it’ll be okay,’ he reassured them.

The Jon’s eyes flicked to him and away again, his hands clutched tight around Trapper’s ukulele. Rabbit didn’t even turn his head, but kept his mismatched gaze fixed on the tent in front of them. Every now and then, his green eye twitched.

‘Okay, Jon,’ Hawk whispered, waving for them to stop while they were still behind the tall figure in the tent.

For a moment, The Jon didn’t move. He was staring through the tent at his brother, frozen to the spot. Then his hands slowly uncurled, readjusted the ukulele and began to strum softly.

Sidney glanced at them, met Trapper’s eyes, then looked straight back at his patient, as though nothing had happened. A knot in Trapper’s small intestine relaxed. Sidney hadn’t signalled them to stop, as he had promised to do if he thought the music wouldn’t help.

The ukulele rang louder and Rabbit began to hum. Trapper found himself swaying in time, the melody trickling into him, finding all those points of tension and easing them, a musical massage. He tried not to let himself get lost in it. They were here as doctors, they were here to heal someone, not to be healed themselves.

He kept his eyes fixed on the figure in Hawkeye’s chair and bit his lip as it shook, the silver fins sliding out. As steam obscured their view he exchanged a nervous look with Hawkeye. Was it working? Or was it making things worse? Despite the heat, something ice-cold slipped down the back of his shirt. What if they damaged him even more?

The figure in the tent jerked forwards. Rabbit twitched and The Jon stifled a moan. They both pressed closer to the tent, going right up to the sides. Trapper and Hawk followed, craning their heads to see inside.

Voices drifted through the mesh but he couldn’t tell what they were saying over the music. He ran his thumb across his palm, again and again, trying to still the nerves that, after their moment of release, were winding themselves taught once more.

The ukulele faded away on the last note.

‘Again,’ The Jon said, blue light from his eyes bouncing back off the tent.

Rabbit nodded.

The figure in the tent trembled as the starting notes rang out for a second time and Trapper’s stomach clenched.

Then a voice poured out into the air, deep and smooth as a mill pond, sparking tears in the corners of Trapper’s eyes.

‘Ever since the first time I opened my eyes,

I’ve awakened to the same thing.

Other automaton friends, roughly built like me-e-e.’

And then it cut off, as suddenly as it had come.

He blinked, gazed at the others, who gazed right back, each face a mirror of his own confusion and worry. The Spine had sung, but what did that mean?

They peered back through the mesh, in time to see the robot sit up and turn, his green eyes gleaming in the light of the tent, fastening on them for a moment. Then he turned back.

The Jon’s hands shook on the strings, then stopped moving.

‘Did it work?’ Hawkeye asked, his voice hushed.

‘He’s so sad…’ The Jon whispered, his voice quavering. ‘It was supposed to make him better, but he hurts so much.’

‘Maybe, maybe we should leave it for now,’ Trapper suggested, his heart sinking slowly down from his chest towards his boots.

‘Uh-uh,’ Rabbit said, sticking his chin out and crossing his arms. ‘I’m staying. I’m staying ‘til he r-r-remembe-bers.’

‘We’ll stay too then,’ Trapper said, trying desperately to sound optimistic. He couldn’t leave the bots standing there on their own, not knowing if The Spine had remembered them or not.

‘Yeah,’ Hawkeye agreed, with the same bravado. ‘I gotta see my idea through to-to the end.’

And so they waited.

Ten minutes. Trapper wiped the sweat of his forehead and shifted his weight. Rabbit rocked on the balls of his feet, up and down, up and down.

Twenty minutes. Now Trapper was staring hard at the ukulele in The Jon’s hands, trying not to think of how he waited for his wife outside the hospital room when their first daughter had been born.

Thirty minutes. Or thirty hours? He couldn’t tell anymore. Each second repeated itself, over and over, his stomach alternately churning and settling as his nerves stretched and slackened.

Movement inside the tent. Everyone’s eyes snapped to it. Sidney was getting up. He looked at them, then raised his hand and beckoned.

Trapper’s heart, which had been residing in his boots, leaped back into his chest so fast it was painful. ‘Do you think—’

But Rabbit and The Jon had gone, sprinting round the tent. He and Hawkeye followed, their boots slipping in the soft mud.

The robots reached the door ahead of them. Rabbit yanked it open, hurtled through it, then stopped so abruptly that The Jon cannoned into him. Trapper and Hawk crowded in behind them, staring through the gloom.

The slim robot peered up at them all from Hawkeye’s chair, his face streaked with oily smears. He looked gaunt, haggard, as though he had somehow lost weight, and Trapper shivered. He’d thought Sidney’s signal had meant The Spine was better, but maybe it hadn’t meant that at all.

Rabbit took a step forward. ‘S-S-S-Sp-Sp-Sp—’ He couldn’t get the word out.

‘…Rabbit,’ the deep voice whispered. ‘Jon… I’m sorry.’ Another black tear rolled slowly down his silver cheek. ‘I-I… His hand reached out, trembling, as though afraid to touch them.

‘Spine!’ The Jon cried and tumbled forward. A second later, he and Rabbit had flung themselves on their brother and Hawkeye’s chair went over with a crash to spill all three of them onto the floor.

Sidney jerked out of their way and his gaze met Trapper’s again. Trapper’s lips twitched. His shoulders quaked. Then the laughter burst out of him, a hearty guffaw that shattered the tension and the fear and the worry into a thousand fragments. He threw back his head, Hawkeye doubling over beside him. From the pile of robots came a soft giggle, a cackle like a witch’s and a deep chuckle, still choked with sobs.

The jeep grumbled into the compound. Frank glanced up at it, then turned his eyes back to Margaret. Then he froze and looked up again.

‘What is it, Frank?’ Margaret asked.

He nodded at the jeep, hurriedly checking that his uniform was straight. ‘General Clayton’s here.’

Margaret span round, a little too eagerly for Frank’s liking, and stared too. ‘What’s he doing here?’ she asked, as the jeep pulled up outside the hospital. ‘And who’s that with— Frank!’ she gasped, pointing. ‘That’s General Murdock. He was in _Stars and Stripes_ the other week!’

A thin figure climbed out of the jeep after General Clayton. Even from a distance, his eyes seemed to glint like metal as he turned back to the driver. ‘Go and find the robot,’ they heard him say, his voice carrying sharp and clear across the camp. ‘Tell it to wait for me here.’ He and Clayton disappeared into the hospital as the driver saluted.

Recollection ran icy nails down Frank’s back. The letter he had written to General Clayton about The Spine. The one he hadn’t decided whether to post or not. The one Radar had taken out of his hands a few days ago.

He sucked in a sharp breath. Would they realise it was him who’d sent it, that this was _his_ fault? Guilt squirmed in his stomach, sharp and unfamiliar.

‘Ah, a jeep with a driver,’ said Pierce’s voice. ‘Either someone important is visiting us, or we’ve been given a pass to Seoul we weren’t told about.’

Frank glanced over his shoulder to see his Pierce and MacIntyre exiting the Swamp, followed by Major Freedman and… the robots. _The Spine_. His gaze darted back to the driver, now surveying the compound. An alien desire rose up inside him, muddling all his thoughts. Should he… should he distract the man, stop him from spotting the robots?

But he’d barely had the thought before it was too late. The corporal had seen the shining faces and was coming over.

Perhaps it was the sneer on the man’s face that did it. Or the arrogant way he strolled across the compound, as though he were going for a pleasant walk rather than obeying a superior’s orders. The man was only a corporal, after all.

‘Frank?’

He ignored Margaret for once and came up to the Swamp at the same time the driver reached it.

‘Three robots?’ the corporal said, his face red and sweaty in the heat. ‘He didn’t say anything about three. Maybe he wants all of you to come.’ He rubbed his jaw, looking the robots up and down.

‘Who?’ MacIntyre asked.

‘M-Murdock…’

All eyes turned to The Spine. His optics were wide and he shook where he stood.

‘General Murdock?’ The Jon asked, so quietly Frank nearly didn’t hear him.

‘Damn it!’ Sidney said from behind the three robots. ‘Not now!’

‘Yep, now,’ the corporal said, insolently. He sucked on his teeth and grinned. ‘What was it the General said? The Spit, or something? Whichever one that is. You gotta wait for him by the jeep.’

‘That’s _Lieutenant_ to you, soldier!’ Frank barked.

Pierce and MacIntyre turned stunned expressions on him, but he ignored them.

‘Corporal,’ he continued, glaring down his nose at the arrogant little busybody, ‘The Spine is a Lieutenant in the United States Army, which means he outranks you. From now on, you’ll address with him a bit more respect or I’ll have you up on a charge for insubordination!’

‘But it’s a _machine_ ,’ the driver cried. ‘Sir,’ he added quickly, noting Frank’s oak leaves.

‘That doesn’t matter,’ Frank said, brushing aside the fact that a week ago he had thought it mattered a great deal. ‘He’s an officer and you will treat him as such. If you have a message to deliver, you stand to attention and you call him _sir_. A salute wouldn’t go amiss, either.’

The corporal goggled at him. His face worked, then he stood up straight, saluted, and said in a voice thick with bitterness, ‘General Murdock requests that Lieutenant The Spine waits for him by his jeep. _Sir_.’ His face even redder than before, he turned and walked stiffly away.

Silence. Then from behind him, Margaret said, ‘Oh, Frank…’ Her voice was hushed, admiring.

‘Frank…’ MacIntyre echoed. ‘Are you feeling all right? That was practically human!’

‘Hey!’ Frank snapped. Why did they always have to rag him just for requesting some military discipline?

But Pierce was grinning broadly. He stepped forwards and, to Frank’s utter astonishment, saluted. Correctly. ‘You, Frank, are a treasure,’ he said. ‘Sir,’ he added, winking.

Frank stared at him. MacIntyre had asked if he was feeling okay, but maybe it was Pierce he should have been asking. ‘What?’ he asked eventually, realising his mouth had dropped open. ‘What’s the matter?’

‘They’re thanking you for standing up for me,’ said The Spine, edging round Rabbit to stand in front of Frank, ‘and for treating me like a human. I appreciate that, sir.’

‘Oh, well,’ Frank said, shrugging and feeling a grin appear on his own face. What a change it made to be praised for something in this camp. He opened his mouth but then the doors of the hospital slammed open.

The walls shook and The Spine flinched, convinced he was about to see Murdock come striding towards him. But it was Radar. He breathed a plume of steam out in relief, relief that was quashed the next instant as the clerk sprinted towards them, his round face sweaty and his glasses sliding down his nose.

‘What’s up, Radar?’ Hawkeye asked in concern.

‘General Murdock’s here,’ the clerk panted.

‘We know,’ The Spine said quietly. He sighed again, this time in resignation. His core had frozen in his chest, the joints in his knees seemed to have come loose and his steam pressure has built to danger levels. _I don’t want to go back!_ But he had to. He’d known Murdock would come for him at some point, he just hadn’t realised it would be today.

‘But he’s saying he’s gonna hand you over to these technicians,’ Radar said, staring wide-eyed at him. ‘He said they’d make sure you were fit for duty and Rabbit and The Jon mentioned upgrades when they were telling us about you and I thought—’

The Spine’s whole body trembled, steam hissing from all his joints.

‘S-Spine?’ Rabbit was tugging at his sleeve, but The Spine ignored him.

 _More efficient than those ugly smokestacks._ That was what they had said, when they’d given him these awkward, eerie fins, when they’d taken his skeleton apart, piece by piece, replacing anything and everything in the name of efficiency. Half of Pappy’s work had gone to the scrap heap. And there was more they could have done. More upgrades, except they hadn’t wanted to overload his system by putting too many in at once. They’d wanted to test his reactions in the field. The damage done to him, and the repairs Hawk and Trapper had done, would give them the perfect excuse.

 _Will I still be me when they finish?_ The thought wriggled through his every wire like an asp, smooth and venomous.

If Murdock was sending him straight back to the front lines, maybe, just maybe, he could manage. He might be able to keep clinging on to his family, why he was here, who he was.

But if the general wanted him upgraded _again_ …

A hand dropped onto his shoulder and he flinched again. Then he relaxed as Rabbit’s face appeared right in front of his own.

‘We ain’t gonna let it h-h-happen again, little b-bro,’ Rabbit murmured, resting his forehead on The Spine’s and blowing a copious cloud of steam out of his cheeks. ‘N-no way.’

The Spine took a deep breath, steadying himself, and gave Rabbit a small smile. ‘Thanks,’ he said, though there was nothing they could do.

‘We’ll think of something,’ Hawkeye’s voice said, falsely hearty. ‘We’ve got people outta worse scrapes than—’

The creak of the door. Three pairs of footsteps.

The Spine broke away from Rabbit and looked right into the eyes, cold and hard as ball bearings, of General Murdock. Every one of his joints locked in place.

A single grey eyebrow lifted and the barbed-wire lips crooked in an icy smile. ‘All three together? Have you been collecting them, Colonel Blake?’ His voice carried clear across the compound, though he hadn’t raised it.

‘Well, er, Rabbit and The Jon are actually, er, here with the, er, permission of their commanding officer, General Murdock, sir,’ Henry explained from behind the general, trying and failing to sound casual.

‘Really…’ Murdock’s smile widened and he turned his gaze from The Spine to his brothers, that same calculating, appraising look he remembered from the manor. ‘Well,’ he said, turning to the jeep and his driver, ‘we had better be getting back, Clayton. The Spine, _if_ you’re ready?’ he added, his voice now dripping with sarcasm.

The Spine swallowed the oil congealing in the back of his throat and forced his limbs to start moving again. Gunfire sounded somewhere, distant, but coming closer.

‘Hey,’ The Jon said, grabbing hold of his shirt, ‘what are you doing? You can’t go!’

His cooling fins slid out, releasing a cloud of steam into the muggy air. ‘I have to, Jon,’ he said quietly, trying not to look at the large blue optics that gazed up at him. ‘I-I have to go back with him.’

‘W-w-why?’ Rabbit stuttered, sticking his chin out and glaring at his brother. ‘Why do you have to g-g-g-go?’

‘Yeah,’ Trapper joined in. ‘You can’t go back to that. Look at what happened to you last time!’

‘We’ve barely finished putting you back together,’ Hawkeye said, concern bleeding through the ironic bedside manner. ‘You really wanna waste all our effort?’

‘No, I don’t!’ The words were ripped from him. Why did they have to make this even harder than it already was? ‘I don’t… But I have to.’

‘But why?’ Major Houlihan said, as they all clustered around him. Her eyes were bright and she blinked rapidly.

‘Is there a problem, Lieutenant?’ Murdock was striding towards them, the smile gone from his mouth, a sneer resting in its place.

‘No problem, sir,’ The Spine said hurriedly, shouldering his way out of the circle that had formed around him, steam billowing from his vents. He couldn’t let them distract him, any of them. Rabbit and The Jon would be the ones to pay the price if he did.

Something caught at edge of his short again.

‘Rabbit, let go of me,’ he said, half-turning towards his brother. ‘Please…’

‘You’re le-leaving us ag-gain.’ Rabbit’s eyes blazed blue and green as he stared at The Spine, frustration and fear mingling in them.

The Spine’s bellows tightened, until the smallest breath felt like it might burst them. ‘Rabbit, I—’

‘What aren’t you t-t-telling us? Why… WHY ARE Y-YOU LEAVING AGAIN?’

He flinched as Rabbit’s voice blasted through the camp. Tent doors opened and knots of curious people began to emerge.

Rabbit shook, his fists curling, chin thrust out, steam pouring from his cheeks.

The Spine closed his eyes for a moment against an upsurge of oil. He had to this, he couldn’t lose control. Shells were bursting somewhere. Someone was screaming.

‘Not going to renege on our deal, are you, Lieutenant?’ said the cold-iron voice from only a few feet away.

‘…No, sir.’ The words came out in a whisper that was barely audible over the hissing of Rabbit’s steam and the sounds of battle in his own head.

‘Because if you are,’ Murdock continued, ‘then I would of course be under no obligation to keep my side of it.’

‘No, sir!’ His voice cracked out and now it was Rabbit who flinched. ‘I’ll go back with you.’ To the upgrades, to the endless slaughter, to his own insanity if it came to that. _Anything_ to stop Murdock hurting his brothers. Couldn’t let that happen, not when he could stop it. It would be his fault if he didn’t.

‘You made a deal?’ Hawkeye asked, folding his arms and staring hard at Murdock. ‘What deal?’

 _No_ , The Spine thought as all heads turned to the general and several pairs of eyebrows were raised. _They can’t hear this. It’ll hurt them._ ‘It doesn’t matter,’ he began, but Trapper interrupted.

‘Yeah, it does matter.’ He glared at Murdock too, apparently unfazed by the man. ‘You’re trying to blackmail our friend, here. So we wanna know, what deal?’

The Spine turned desperate eyes to Major Freedman. He knew, because The Spine had told him, just an hour ago.

Major Freedman met his eyes and, slowly and deliberately, shook his head.

What? What did he want The Spine to do, just let it happen, let his brothers be hurt?

And then Murdock spoke again and everything he had fought to keep dammed up, to keep hidden away where his brothers wouldn’t see it, came flooding out.

‘Well,’ the general began, ‘when we came to the conclusion that the Walter robots were exactly what we needed here in Korea, it was decided that we would need to upgrade them. No doubt you’ve already heard that much.’ His cold gaze rested accusingly on The Spine for a moment, who shivered. ‘The Spine here asked me not to take the other two, said they were too fragile. We came to an agreement.’ He paused and smiled that shark-like smile again. He was _enjoying_ this. He pulled out a cigarette from his pocket, just as he had done in Walter Manor all those long months ago, and lit it. ‘The Spine would accept all the upgrades and do everything we wanted and in return, I would hold off on taking the other two in as well.’ He blew out a ribbon of smoke and it hung in heavy coils in the thick air. ‘So, Spine, now you’re been reminded of the terms, what’s it gonna be? Do I have one willing soldier or three unwilling ones?’

Silence. Then Rabbit said, ‘Spine? Y-y-y-y—’ He couldn’t finish and he began shaking from head to toe.

The Spine blinked back the oil in his eyes again. He knew what was going through his brother’s mind. That dark, damp laboratory under the Beciles’ house, unfriendly hands tampering with Rabbit’s core, the explosion that had killed Peter II and Guy when they went to rescue him.

‘Upgrades..?’ The Jon whispered and his optics widened still further. ‘You did it for us?’

The Spine nodded. He had his control by his fingertips. If he spoke, it might slip out of his grasp. But he had to speak, had to give an answer to General Murdock.

There was only one answer he could give.

‘I’m coming with you, sir.’ He tried not to hear the little gasp The Jon had given, or the hissing of Rabbit’s vents. He pushed them away, just as he had pushed them away before. Well, if that was what it took, if he had to lose himself to save them… The dreadful thunder in his head rolled once more, closer, closer.

He shuffled forward, unable to raise his head to look anyone in the eye.

And stopped. An arm was blocking his way.

Major Freedman had slipped around the back of the huddle and blocked his path. ‘I’m sorry, General,’ he said, calmly, ‘but I can’t let you take The Spine.’

The Spine’s mouth dropped open, steam wafting into the air.

‘I beg your pardon, _doctor_?’ Murdock said, eyes glittering like the edge of a blade.

‘I can’t let you take The Spine,’ the major repeated. ‘The stress and trauma he’s already been put under was far too much for him. We’ve only started fixing that. I’m not letting any patient of mine go back to that.’

‘Patient? He’s a machine!’ Murdock’s nostrils flared and The Spine twitched involuntarily. How could Major Freedman stand there so calmly, as though Murdock didn’t frighten him at all?

‘True. But from everything I’ve observed, his mind, and that is my speciality, General, is quite human.’ The major smiled. ‘It is my medical opinion, as a psychiatrist, that this man should not be returning to the front lines as a soldier. He certainly should not be made to undergo any more… upgrades.’ The smile faded as his lip curled in distaste.

Murdock sighed. ‘Major, if it makes you any happier, I’ll take full responsibility for anything that happens.’ He reeled the words off, like it was a line he’d used a hundred times before. The Spine wondered how many times it had worked. Would it this time?

‘No, General, you won’t.’

‘Major Freedman!’ General Clayton had finally come over to see what the fuss was about, Henry hurrying awkwardly along behind him. More and more people were gathering in the compound, watching, listening.

‘I’m sorry, General, but you won’t change my mind,’ Freedman said, still cool and unruffled.

‘I don’t think you understa—’ Murdock began.

‘I don’t think you’ll be able to go up against the medical opinion of two doctors, will you, General?’ Hawkeye, hands in his pockets, sauntered forward to stand next to the major. He was grinning.

‘Three doctors, actually,’ Trapper added, coming round to stand on The Spine’s other side, just in front of him.

‘Hell!’ Henry said, skirting the generals and striding over too. ‘Make it four.’

Someone coughed, very quietly, behind The Spine and Major Burns sidled into view, Major Houlihan beside him. The Spine blinked again and swayed, his stabilisers sluggish. The gunfire faded, just a little.

Hawkeye’s grin widened. ‘Frank, if you don’t start being horrible again, I’m gonna book you in as Sidney’s next patient.’

‘Oh, narts to you!’ Frank spat, but he stayed where he was.

‘So,’ Major Freedman said, evenly, ‘I think that’s decided.’

‘Oh you do, do you?’ Murdock said, his face flushing and his upper lip quivering. ‘If you think I’m going to let any of you get away with this, you’ve got another think coming!’

‘Really?’ Hawkeye said, folding his arms. ‘How popular do you think you’ll be with the American public, General, when they find out you’re ignoring medical opinions and taking patients without their doctors’ consent? I can see the outcry in the papers right now…’

‘Can’t imagine they’d like having you in charge of their kids,’ Trapper said. ‘I’d be surprised if you’d ever command more than a troop of toy soldiers.’

‘This is blackmail,’ General Murdock said, his face twisting in anger.

The Spine shivered again. They couldn’t possibly get away with this.

‘That’s such an ugly word,’ Trapper said, in a hurt voice.

‘But then it’s an ugly thing he’s trying to do,’ Hawk pointed out.

‘Sir…’ General Clayton put in, his eyes darting nervously towards Murdock, his big, round face shiny. ‘I know these men quite well and I’m afraid… they mean what they say.’

Murdock’s glare snapped round to Clayton, who drew back slightly. ‘Fine…’ Murdock said, his voice a poisonous whisper. ‘He’ll stay. And I’ll take the other two.’

Rabbit whimpered. The Spine instantly stepped in front of him and The Jon, steam hissing from his back. _No._ He was not going to let this happen, he was _not_. He’d done so much to keep them both safe, he couldn’t fail now.

‘General,’ said yet another voice. A woman’s this time.

The Spine glanced around and saw Ginger and the other nurses crossing the compound. Lieutenants Dish and Amir, Nurse Cutler, Lieutenant Scorch.

‘You don’t really think that we’d let you take any of these boys, do you?’ Ginger asked, her head held high and her own eyes flashing. The nurses reached them and surrounded the three robots, forming another protective ring, a wall to keep the general at bay.

And other figures were coming to join them too. Radar’s round form was trotting next to Father Mulcahy’s slender one. Klinger stomped over from the mess tent in a concoction of lace and dark blue velvet, muttering, ‘If facing down a three-star general doesn’t prove I’m nuts, nothing will.’

Yet again, the oil started in The Spine’s eyes and this time he let it fall. All these people, doing this for his brothers, for _him_.

‘I think you’ll find, General,’ said Sidney from the front of the crowd, ‘that our medical opinion is the same for all three of these boys.’

The Spine stared over all the heads, all the people standing with him. Somehow, they lifted him, brought him up out those endless caverns of fear and guilt. Hope stirred where only cold ashes had been and fuelled the growing spark of courage warming his core. He looked past Trapper’s head and met the general’s eyes.

Cold steel gazed back at him, willing him to concede, to give in again.

He felt the bodies around him, felt Rabbit and The Jon take hold of his arms. He stared right back at Murdock and shook his head. _No. Never again._

Murdock’s face twisted. He spat something at General Clayton, then turned and marched back to his jeep. As the car grumbled out of the compound, a cheer went up that nearly blew the roof of the hospital.

The Spine shook, a huge head of steam leaving him in a rush, the flood of emotions draining with it. He swayed, suddenly limp as a damp rag, and collapsed to his knees with a clatter. The oil still running freely down his face, he clutched his brothers to him and they held him while he sobbed.

Rabbit stared up into the sky as he waited for the show to start. It was blue today. Mostly it had been grey with clouds, or white with fog, but today the sky was blue. Blue like the cores in their chests, like The Jon’s eyes. Blue like that beautiful dress Klinger was wearing…

It was going to be a good day. A good show. He could feel it, right inside his core, all warm and happy. He was playing music again and this time he had both his brothers with him.

He glanced sideways at The Spine, just to check he was still there, that he still knew them. The Spine caught his gaze and smiled.

He looked the other way, at The Jon, who beamed up at him as he tuned Trapper’s ukulele.

Last time he’d sung, there’d been a huge gap in the music. That horrible, empty space where The Spine’s voice should have been. It had a been a good show, that party, everyone had enjoyed it, and he’d managed to get them all dancing, even Major Houlihan. But it hadn’t been complete.

The Spine had always been there to sing with him, ever since Pappy had built them all those years ago. He’d been there to laugh with Rabbit and tell him off every hour or so, when Rabbit had done something he shouldn’t. He’d been there to let them cry when they’d come back from Africa, from the other wars, from that cold, dark place underground, the one Rabbit’d thought he’d never come back from.

Rabbit lifted his optics to the sky again. These last, terrible months, he’d thought The Spine hadn’t been there, but really he had. He’d done it all for them. _Silly Spine. He shouldn’t have done that to himself for us. Even… even if it meant more upgrades!_ He stuck his chin out.

There was a polite cough from in front of the stage. Rabbit glanced down to see Father Mulcahy standing in front of the rickety platform.

‘All ready?’ he asked, his hand raised to shield his eyes from the sun.

Rabbit tried a few notes on the borrowed accordion and glanced at his brothers again, who nodded. Then he looked out over the seats that had been set up outside the hospital, at all the expectant faces. ‘R-r-ready,’ he said.

Father Mulcahy nodded too, then turned to the crowd and made a short speech, introducing them.

Rabbit didn’t listen. Speeches were boring. He was listening for the end. When it came, he grinned. For the third time since they’d driven that ambulance into the 4077th, he opened his mouth and called, ‘Attune your ears to the grinding gears!’

 _Yes…_ The music swelled as he sang, currents rippling out, setting the audience swaying in their seats. The war, the red crosses on the rooves, the muggy heat of Korea, it all faded. Just the music and the audience and his brothers with him.

The Spine’s voice rose in harmony, back where it belonged. ‘Brass goggles, brass goggles.’ The missing words found again. The unheard notes ringing out once more. His brother, with them to stay.

The guitar hummed under his fingers, warm and familiar. Not his own guitar, of course, that was back in San Diego, but one Radar had miraculously produced from somewhere, along with the accordion Rabbit was now playing.

The Spine let the music waft its way through him, coiling round every piston, cog and oil line like cleaning fluid. He took a breath. The air seemed fresher, sweeter today that it had for months, despite the humid summer. His voice rose with his brothers’, now high, now deep, three strands of thread spinning together into one.

He had forgotten how this felt, to do the thing he had been created for and to do it with his brothers beside him. The blue matter in his chest throbbed, but the ache was just a counterpoint to the joy. He might have forgotten, but he had remembered. He’d lost his brothers, but he’d found them again.

With a little help, of course.

He glanced at The Jon and then at Rabbit, tipping them the smallest of nods. He strummed the last few chords of ‘One-Way Ticket’ and waited until the clapping and the cheers had died down. It was time for the little something he’d been working on the last couple of days. He hadn’t had much time to polish it, but it would do. They had to know, these wonderful people, just how much they’d done for him. He had to pass a little of that hope back to them.

‘Aaaah-aah, aaaah-aah,’ he began, moving forward so all eyes were on him.

As he sang the first lines, he searched for Tommy Haversham and found him sitting in the third row, the unpleasant man from post-op next to him. He caught the airman’s eye.

‘He opens up a letter from her,

She writes “Here’s a color picture of me.

Just head towards my blue eyes

When you’re finding your way, back to me.”’

Tommy’s mouth dropped open and The Spine grinned to himself as he sang the chorus, Rabbit and The Jon in harmony with him. Then the second verse came round, about a navy man and a special star, and now it was the other patient’s turn to look stunned.

‘As the lieutenant gazed up

And saw their star shining bright,’

(‘Oh so bright,’ sang the others)

‘He knew it would guide him home

When the time was right.’

Into the chorus again and coming up to the bridge, the bit he’d spent hours holed up in their tent working on.

‘All you infantrymen and you riveting gals,

Don’t ever need to give up hope.

All you doctors and nurses and engineers,

Need not worry for long.’

He scanned the audience in the hot sun, searching out each face. Hawkeye and Trapper, who literally pieced him back together. Major Freedman, who’d done the same for his mind. Radar, who’d got hold of the instruments, of spare parts, of Rabbit and The Jon. And Ginger, Father Mulcahy, Major Houlihan, Klinger, Colonel Blake, even Major Burns, everyone who had helped them, stood up for them. Believed in their humanity.

And the song ended. The MASH staff were on their feet, cheering. Ginger darted up on to the stage and actually kissed him on the cheek. The Spine’s face plates heated up and steam poured from his mouth, while Hawkeye wolf-whistled and Trapper whooped. He met his brothers’ eyes. Just for today, for these few hours, there was no war, only the music and the happiness bubbling up inside him and the people crowding round him, his family and friends.

‘You’ll take care of yourself, won’t you, my son?’ Father Mulcahy asked, peering anxiously into The Spine’s face and shaking his brother’s hand so hard The Jon worried it might fall off.

‘I will, Father,’ The Spine said, smilingly reassuringly. ‘Don’t worry. Oh, here’s your book back.’ He held out a slim volume and The Jon, peering round him, saw the title: _Whose Body?_

Father Mulcahy smiled too. ‘You keep it,’ he said, letting go of The Spine’s hand at last. ‘It’s not the book I usually give out, but I think it’s done as much good.’

The Jon grinned to himself. Father Mulcahy was so _nice_. Much nicer than most of the priests they’d met before.

Radar was next, peering up at The Spine with a worried frown. ‘You’ll be okay, now, right?’ he asked, squinting through his smeared glasses. Then he flushed and looked away. ‘Sorry, maybe I shouldn’t ask…’

‘I’ll be fine,’ said The Spine, warmly. ‘But… Colonel Macy’s definitely—’

‘He’s expecting you, sir.’ Radar finished before he could. ‘I spoke to his aide and apparently he, Colonel Macy that is, is really happy you’re joining them. He said something about long-term investments paying off.’

‘Thank you, Radar,’ he said, gravely, ‘for everything.’

Radar went bright red again.

Major Freedman appeared and before he could open his mouth, The Spine said, ‘I’ll be fine and I’ll take care of myself.’

‘We’ll make sure of it,’ The Jon added.

‘Glad to hear it,’ the psychiatrist said, grinning. ‘I wouldn’t want all that work to go to waste.’

‘Neither would we,’ Trapper said, appearing over the major’s shoulder with Hawkeye. ‘You make sure you keep yourself together, all of you. It’s too late for us to change specialties now.’

‘I could have been an engineer,’ Hawkeye put in, ‘but it was just too complicated. I could never get my head around how things are supposed to work. That’s why I became a doctor.’

A rich chuckle spilled out into the morning air. The sound ran all the way through The Jon, filling the void in his chest with swirls of warmth.

‘That’s one of the best sounds I’ve heard in a very long time,’ Major Freedman said and The Jon agreed. He hadn’t heard his brother laugh in months. Finally, The Spine was feeling happy again.

‘Thank you, doctors,’ The Spine said, trying to put very ounce of feeling he could into those small, inadequate words, ‘for everything.’

‘Our pleasure,’ the major said. ‘Just remember, you’ve got a way to go yet.’

The Jon nodded to himself, turning his attention to Radar who was still hovering, waiting to say goodbye to him. He hugged the clerk, knocking his glasses right off his nose. ‘We’ll write to you!’ he promised Radar, bending down to pick the glasses up and trying to wipe the smears off them with his shirt. ‘And we’ll come back to visit!’

‘Will you play for us again?’ Radar asked, grinning shyly, his hat askew and his hair rumpled.

‘Definitely!’ The Jon said and nodded so hard his own cap fell off. He picked that up too and stuffed it in his pocket. He had to fix it soon, the edges had got all frayed.

He looked back at The Spine, saying goodbye to the doctors, and smiled. The Spine wasn’t better yet, but all that hurt that had built and built and built until he couldn’t carry it anymore, that was gone for now. And The Jon would watch carefully to make sure it didn’t creep back. He was going to be the Big Brother from now on, so The Spine didn’t hurt himself again trying to look after them all.

 _He shouldn’t have had to do it in the first place_ , he told his koi, who flipped in agreement.

But it was okay now. Things weren’t quite over with Murdock, he could feel it. Someone like that didn’t like being humiliated, especially by people they thought weren’t as good as them. He had Good Feelings about the foreseeable future though, so Murdock wasn’t going to be a problem any time soon.

The Jon looked at The Spine again and did a special little dance on the spot. His brother was back with them and nothing else mattered.

A honk sounded over all the chattering. The driver was getting impatient.

‘Well, we’d better be on our way,’ The Spine said in his deep, soothing voice. ‘Come on, Jon. Rabbit, put Radar down.’

The Jon trotted over to the car as Rabbit sighed heavily and let go of the clerk.

‘Goodbye! We’ll see you soon!’ they called as they clambered in.

‘Spine?’ The Jon asked from the back seat as the driver started the engine. ‘Should we sing for them again?’

‘Yeah, sing for us again, boys!’ Ginger called.

The robots exchanged looks and, without so much as a word, broke into The Spine’s new song.

The jeep revved and groaned as it hauled the three robots around the compound and out of the 4077th. The MASH staff ran after them, waving, and The Jon, Rabbit and The Spine sang as loud as they could.

‘If we all look towards what we miss most

And keep that drive in our hearts,

Well, that’ll that’ll that’ll that’ll that’ll that’ll that’ll that’ll

That’ll be the way home.

Yes, that’ll that’ll that’ll that’ll that’ll that’ll that’ll

That’ll be the way hooome!’

*

Whistling cheerfully in the bright spring morning, enjoying the fresh breeze that was blowing over San Diego, The Spine opened the mailbox and pulled out two letters and today’s paper. The letters were probably birthday cards for Peter V, who was turning 18 in a few days, so he tucked those under his arm and unfolded the newspaper as he wandered back to the house.

The whistle died on his lips as he read the headline. For a moment, his bellows tightened in his chest and his oil seemed to have frozen in its conduits.

Then he let out a long, slow breath, forcing himself to remain calm. They’d known this would happen, one day.

He walked back up the drive, into Walter Manor and shut the door gently behind him. He dropped Peter’s letters on the hall table, then went into the living room and settled down to read the paper in full.

Barely a minute later, The Jon appeared at the doorway, his hair rumpled, a bleary-eyed Rabbit at his shoulder. ‘I had a Bad Feeling,’ The Jon explained.

‘You were right, Jon,’ The Spine said softly.

‘W-w-what is it?’ Rabbit asked, his eyes blinking out of sync as he yawned.

The Spine held up the front page of the newspaper.

‘Thursday, April 8th, 1965

NEW HEAD OF FORCES IN VIETNAM PROMISES A SWIFT END TO WAR: ‘I’LL DO WHATEVER IT TAKES,’ SAYS GENERAL MURDOCK’


End file.
